"Well yeah. But you know what? I hate looking at those stars."
"Wow. Hate is a strong word."
"Uh, I guess. But you know, I just, don't like looking at them, not because they're not beautiful, because they are."
She was now looking at me intently, very interested in what I had to say next. I continued, "It's just that, they make me sad. I look at them and see how beautiful they are, but they never really become mine. They just become part of moments, which soon become gone, forever, except probably in your mind. And then you never know when you'll see them again this beautiful, it could be tomorrow, it could be next month, next year. And seeing something so beautiful, and to realize it could never be yours, it just..." my voice was cracking, and for some reason I was having a really hard time saying these words, like they hurt or something.
"It just breaks my heart."
"Hey, what are you thinking about?" she asked.
"Nothing. Have you seen 'Chicago' yet?"
"No, I haven't. Heard it was really great."
"Yeah, it is. Wanna catch it with me this weekend?"
"Uh, sorry. I can't. You know, boyfriend."
"Oh. Yes. Of course."
And then there was another silence, a different, lonely type. The sadness just became greater because this silence was all too familiar. In fact, the first few times it was so silent I imagined myself hearing something breaking. Of course, I couldn't hear the damn thing breaking anymore now; it's already broken.
Which is why why I keep coming back I guess. Broken, like a record, playing over and over again.
-- "Evening Stars", April 2003