the night sky has nothing on your eyes.

i think sometimes people sleep better when they can see the stars;

he traces the path of one with his finger; the trajectory if it was suddenly to disappear.
'we don't have stars where i live. it's too fast.'
i tell him i'd share, and we could send messages across the constellations.
'ok.'
something streaks the sky bone white for a moment, blinding us.
'a shooting star. are you going to make a wish?' i take his hand; he's all popped collars and wet hair. he shakes his head.
'it's not shooting, honey. it's falling; just like us.'
i look at him; his hair is half-gold and his underwater eyes blink like slow waves.
'i guess that's another way of saying it's beautiful.'