When the stars remember our names

 I open my eyes to morning —

light slanting across the room in thin golden lines.

The air hums, faintly alive,

as if the universe itself just exhaled.

For a moment, I don’t move.

The sheets are warm,

but not from you —

only from the memory my mind keeps replaying,

as though it were fact.

The silence is electric,

like the stillness after lightning,

when the world hasn’t yet remembered how to breathe.


I turn, instinctively —

and of course, there’s no one there.

Only the hollow in the pillow,

the shape imagination left behind.

Outside, the city stirs,

but beneath the noise I can feel it:

the pulse.

Something ancient. Something waiting.


Do we fight for each other,

or against the gravity that keeps pulling us back?

Do we fear what we might awaken

if we surrender to what we already know?

Do we stand side by side,

or on opposite edges of the same war —

brave, unafraid,

bound not by choice, but by the echo of something eternal?


Do we reach for one another

as stars realign and empires fall?

Are we enemies by design,

or guardians who forgot their vow?

What is your power —

to bend time, to still chaos,

to find me in every life?

And mine —

to remember, to defy, to stand

when the light begins to fade?


Are we soulmates,

or just reflections caught in the same orbit?

Are we meant to find each other,

or forever destined to almost?

Do the stars call us together,

or do we imagine their voices

because silence feels too empty without meaning?


Perhaps we were made to protect,

to rebuild what the universe breaks,

to keep the fragile rhythm of existence alive.

Or perhaps we are that rhythm —

the song creation hums to itself

when it dreams of balance.


I rise, and the sunlight fractures —

each beam a thread pulling me upward,

outward,

toward something vast.

The city below glows like circuitry,

the horizon burning gold and violet.

Somewhere beyond it,

you’re moving too —

not near, not gone,

but written into the quiet between worlds,

the other half of the spark that started it all.


The day begins.

The story resets.

But the stars remember.

They always do.


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