wmdrayal has an existential crisis
a real word.
No one knew that better than me. I had to admit, though: it sounded right. It fit the way my thoughts were turning over in my head like a drop of ink on water. It didn’t make any sense—that was the first thing you should always remember about words. They don’t have to make sense; they just need to be right. That’s what made them magic.
I looked up at the stars and tried to imagine myself there among them. The sky above my city was just as crowded with lights as the rest of the world, but here out under the open night, I could see every single star, blazing away. It seemed impossible that they all existed at once. I couldn’t even believe it when my mother told me she used to lie awake on summer nights watching them twinkle down from her bedroom window. For some reason, that comforted me more than anything else.
The stars were so beautiful tonight. Everything was quiet except for the faint hum of traffic on the highway below. The wind blew soft against my cheeks and tugged at my hair, reminding me that winter would come soon enough. But I found I didn’t mind the cold. With the stars out this clear, who needed warmth?
“I’m glad you came,” I said aloud without thinking. “Because I wouldn’t have been able to sleep without knowing someone else was out there.”
It took a moment for me to realize I’d spoken those words. My mouth felt dry, and my heart pounded in my chest so hard it hurt. I turned toward the window again, expecting to see a shape moving in the darkness outside. But the light from the street was still bright enough to show me nothing.
I thought about calling out to him, telling him he shouldn’t leave me alone. Then I remembered how much trouble we’d gotten into together, and I wondered if maybe I was imagining things.