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Can You See the Stars Where You Are


These are my thoughts, yo.

Can You See the Stars Where You Are

jasmine banks


I saw a shooting star the other night. I was driving home from Kansas City. I could hear the rhythmic breathing of the sleeping children in the back seat. I was driving with no music. Just the inhale and exhale of the three you loved so much and a dark stretch of road. I looked over my shoulder and the sparkle burst, pierced the dark, and left a long tail of glitter. I gasped. Without hesitation I spoke your name and started crying. I don't believe in heaven or hell. I don't believe in existences beyond our death. Sometimes I wish I did. I wish I knew that you can see the stars from where you are.

I decided the other day that I can't say I've never been in love. For a while I was convinced I've never loved. Hearts do that when they've been broken. They convince you that love is not a thing. It hurts less that way. I've certainly not always felt loved. When I see shooting stars, or drink Chai, or Isaiah asks me to do a toast with him; I know I've been loved. I was loved by you. I remember nights laying flat on the carpet with my head rested in the crook of your neck. You'd smoke and nuzzle my ear. You'd play with my hair and speak to me in Swahili. We'd talk about literature and bodies. We made a list of places we'd visit when you finished your book and I finished school. We believed in each other. We'd laugh until we were unable to laugh at all. You'd lift your hand and entwine your fingers with mine. You'd remind me of what I couldn't see, but what has always been with me; my strength.

I want so badly for another place to exist. I want the sky to split open and reveal you there all along, throwing shooting stars. I want to know you can see the stars from where you are.