The way they talk, they make you forget that you'd find stars out in the suburbs. But here you are on a clear night, with streetlights, driveway torches, and headlights boring in and out.

You look up when you're stepping over the curb or balancing on gravel. You raise your eyes as you wonder about crazed men running out from the bushes. You stare into the expanse and blink, opening your eyes from your narrow thoughts. You wanted a quick fix. You wanted home. You wanted sleep.

Your world is dark blue and green right now, the way you always remembered it. The temperature must be below thirty but you swear you can smell spring. The air is always salty, you imagine.

The stars arch over the evergreens. So many stars, you realize again. Your feet wobble and logic returns you to the terrestrial.

You move towards the tangible lights in the windows, slowly, still watching.

I can be someone.

Is it a question? A declaration?

A dream?