l used to sit outside and watch the stars with my sister. We laughed at some silly constellations, and we wondered if the moon felt lonely up there.

Being the light in the darkness. Grass flowed beneath us, our backs flush against the ground, the hazy scent of summer drifting far into our senses.

Once, my sister turned to me, and she told me that one day, she lifted her hand and pointed to a blank space in the sky, "We will be up there. We will be stars too, the moon won't be lonely, and neither will we." Still, only the inky black stared back.

I was a child then. My sister doesn't watch the stars with me anymore. She is quiet now, she avoids my looks, and she no longer wonders about the moon. We no longer sit on hills. She only glances at the sky before drooping her eyes down to her lap. I wanted to hook the stars from the sky and use them as lights, guiding the way to how we used to be. But they remain still, a dim shine against the stark black.

I have a feeling we will no longer be stars.