Fly Me to the Moon

I remember the sky. Stars piercing the velvety night and late conversations. I don't remember if they were stars, or fireworks. 

Your voice was there.

Maybe those stars were lights. They made me nervous, because it meant a crowd. You walked up to me, and you said that I had a nice voice.

You probably don't remember, but I've never been told that before. 

I'm starting to wonder if maybe those stars were your eyes. 

My memories are all messed up. 

Smile.

Your smile shines like those stars.

Look up. 

The snow reminds me of stars falling on my skin. I feel lighter.

I point at a snowman made of stars. 

I close my eyes and stars dance beneath my eyelids. 

I hold your hand and stars spark between them. 

Everywhere I look I see stars.

I place an ornament on our Christmas tree and it's covered in stars. 

There are thousands of stars in the rays of light filtering through my window in the morning. 

My cousins baseball game has stars that get brighter as the game goes into the night. 

I know the drive to St. George is over because the mountain is covered in stars. 

Where did they all come from? 

My great grandmother tells me that sometimes she sees the stars all around her. She tells me they keep her warm. 

I see the stars in your tears. 

But now I'm not sure if they might just be fireworks.