This creative nonfiction piece first appeared in AshBelt Volume 9 in 2022.

The sky is depressing tonight. There are so many visible stars, but they are shimmering as if they are trying to ward off the dark clouds. When I stare at them long enough, it feels like they are looking away from me sadly. I am not sure if the silver glint of the moon is natural or fake, caused by shining lights from a passing airplane. I do know one thing — I do not love this sky tonight. It is dark, with pieces of light that barely make me feel anything. Desolate and lonely, the blue that stretches out before me, the dark blue fading into dark red and purple hues is doubt. The dark black with an individual touch of white sparkling like diamond is uncertainty.

Sometimes it’s difficult to know the right thing to do and which one I should actually be doing, but either way I always seem to barely skate by. Not this time though … he is in the bedroom, but he doesn’t love me. Not the way I love him.

Oh, what I would give to be like the sky. You see, the sky is unperturbed by man. The sky isn’t even close enough to be bothered by him. In fact, the sky doesn’t even know he exists. The sky doesn’t have time to entertain him. The sky doesn’t have any time for him at all, so why do I? Why does he occupy my every single thought? On days that end in the letter ‘Y,” the pain is just too much.

A storm is brewing, the heavens howling, menacing and dark. Bulbous raindrops begin fall and patter across the cement below spilling like tears, a warning of mistakes past. I shake my head, sending water from my wet blonde hair, sprinkling through the chilly air, splashing on the worn white siding. At least the rain hides my own tears. Why won’t he touch me? The lack of contact sucks away any warmth I may feel throughout the day, such as the sunlight poking out from behind the winter clouds or the caress of the January wind that wraps itself tightly around my chest.

I want to find happiness in the sky tonight, but it is elusive. Silently, the moon watched me through the storm. She has found my weakness and is violating it. I am doing nothing to stop her. All I can think of right now is this broken heart, meager and incomplete. As I wipe my tears and running nose on my sleeve, I take one last casual gaze toward the turbulent sky. I can’t stop thinking that this sadness may consume every fiber of my being, but it is late, and I need to sleep so I can wake up and go through the motions again.