stargazing

Without a doubt, my least favorite thing about living in a big city is not being able to see the stars at night. Instead, a greyish-orange haze blankets the sky, turning almost completely white as you approach Times Square. Occasionally the full moon will make an appearance, poking out from behind a building-- if you're lucky, you might be able to distinguish the moon from the lamps that line the endless grid of streets.

I've always felt like stargazing can connect you to anyone in the world. No matter where they might be, they can still look up and see the same million-years-old light as you can. Suddenly the world feels much smaller, more intimate. Places thousands of miles apart are decorated by the same little specks in the sky-- it's incredible when you really think about it.

Maybe this is why every time I start to feel lonely I long to escape from the city to see the stars— so I can remember the nights we spent laying on hills feeling tiny and infinite, and recall how the simplest words can envelop and overwhelm you with their warmth. In those moments, everything was nothing and we were one and the same.