Away from the fire,

Alone together at last,

We gazed into the starry

Heavens and held hands,

Her beautiful yellow eyes

Sparkling with starlight.

Taking it all in, she said,

“Do you ever wonder what

There is beyond our cloud

Of stars, our Milkomeda?”

So curious, I loved that.

We searched the inky

Nothingness Beyond for

Answers, but found none.

“There’s an ancient myth

About the stars, y’know,

Ever heard of it?”

“Of course,” she answered,

“We’ve all heard the myth.”

And then she began reciting

it as though she believed it;

As if it were some magical

Tale from her childhood:

“It is said that a long, long

Time ago,” she began, the

Way the elders spoke of it,

“The sky was an endless

Universe of star clouds,

Just like ours. Endless.

And we came here from

A different world with

A dying sun…”

“That has to be a myth,”

I broke in, “I mean, where

Could they have all gone?”

I took her in my arms.

“Billions of clouds, each

With billions of stars…

Imagine if it were true!”

We laid together that night,

Looking away from the fire

And into that murky void

Of  unanswered questions

Beyond our own star cloud,

Knowing that we had each

Other, and yet somehow

Feeling very alone.