Twinkle Twinkle

Two stars were gliding near each other in space. It was dark and cold and the nearest big star was on the furthest edge of the galaxy. They'd come here a lot after they'd met, to spend time together. Stars do this often, for companionship. Planets do, too. It's why they travel in packs, why they try to hold onto their moons. But time is different for a star. To meet they'd have to plan for it 60 years in advance, because that's how long it would take them to orbit back around. They'd look forward to it for 59 years, which wasn't that long for stars.

"Hey, so nice to see you again," one star said to the other.

"I know, it has been too long."

"How have you been, you must tell me about your orbit," the one star said.

"Oh, same crap different orbit," the other replied.

"Yes," the one star said, laughing, "I often feel so bored."

"Tell me about it," said the other. "Wouldn't it be nice if we could change orbits whenever we wanted?"

"Or if we could just stop moving for once," the one added.

"Yes, yes, that would be lovely."

"Say, I forgot to mention it: the boys on the Gnalyor comet swung by for a quick hello as I was passing Jajalbunn, probably about 20 years ago. They give you their best," said the one.

"Oh, they always were a hoot! I remember when we first met them, it must have been about 10,000 years ago, near Vrenmarr."

"Ah, yes, Vrenmarr. That was quite the coincidence, all of us meeting there. I remember it well. There was an eclipse that night, do you recall?"

"And we had only just met, maybe 1,500 years before that," said the other.

"But was there an eclipse, or am I mistaken?"

"No, no, there was an eclipse, a lunar eclipse if I recall."

"Yes, I thought so. It was spectacularly crimson, as though the whole face of the moon were blushing."

"It was radiant," the other said.

As the two stars exchanged stories and got reacquainted, gas nebulas bloomed up around them like spiderwebs dusted with opal. Somewhere further off, planets were being born. And further still, on the edge of the universe, planets were being swallowed. The whole universe was stretching and contracting and shimmering and blinking and melting and freezing all at once. It was chaos, complete madness, save for these two stars.

"I hear that this orbit you're to cross paths with Jeffrey," said the one.

The other said nothing.

"I was wondering, you aren't still seeing each other, are you?"

"Oh Charles, that's such a silly question. I told you, you've nothing to worry about."

"Then tell me again I have nothing to worry about, Dorothea."

"Please stop," she said, laughing nervously, "I haven't seen him in ages."

Space can be very quiet when no one is speaking, which is odd, considering how everything is moving so quickly. It can be so quiet that the silence seems to seep inward, filling one with a lonely, vacuous hollow that stings and numbs the way frostbite does. Charles' ears, if he'd had ears, were as mute as his mouth; if he had a mouth. He'd loved Dorothea, dearly. Every night he would peer out into the dense cluster of stars suspended in space and search for her distinctive twinkle. Then, when he'd find it, he'd figure out how long it would be until he'd see her, right down to the day. Which was impressive, for a star. He was entangled in her, almost quantumly; in a way that he wished she was for him.

"I just wish you loved me like I love you," he thought to himself.

If he'd only realized the profound irony of a star wishing on a star.