Staring out the window, I wonder where all the stars went. The night is cool, its hums soft and continuous—but it is artificial. It spreads an empty canvas, void of life, and of anything, really, save the occasional passing satellite. I forget what a sky full of stars looks like. I need to be reminded through pictures of what seem imaginary. The realness that once was has slipped into my imagination, it seems, and the imaginative philosophy of a blank canvas now lines reality.
The sky where you are may also be clear—have you noticed? As you stare outside, is it a breath of fresh air, and only air, or do you breathe in constellations, distant and glowing? You must draw me a picture, really, so I might appreciate what you see. And maybe we may switch lives, at least for a short term, so that I may again see a spotted night, and you a dully flat canvas. When we meet again to trade back our lives, I may not show, but do not be alarmed. I’ll get there, eventually, once I’ve finished connecting dots.
What else are we missing? Sleep? No, that can’t be it. Not all of it, anyway. We will sleep when we find what we’re missing. Is it comfort? Our privacy is transparent. Is it warmth? It’s awfully cold outside. Do we require lullabies? We—no, we can’t sleep yet. Stay up a bit longer.
That satellite—there, do you see? It glows as a star, and it’s moving pretty darn fast; make a wish! Did you get it? Or did you miss that too? I didn’t. Not this time. But I wished for world peace, because I couldn’t think fast enough to come up with anything else. I’ll get it next time. What did you wish for? You probably got some inspiration from one of those constellations you found. It’s harder, here, with an empty sky and all. There’s no space for resting comfortably, because there’s an infinite room to grow here. I mean, there’s also an infinite room to fail. But that first thing I said. Pretty good.
Lying here, I wonder where all my grass went. The base of this house used to just be grass, you know. It’s now a house. And I’m lying in it. Living in it, actually. The ceiling obscures some of the sky, so that I can only see out of my three windows, on two walls. The sides I can’t see out of—they might have stars beyond them. Seeing those stars might be nice, too. No thanks to this house.
Hey! Don’t sleep yet. Really. I mean, I guess I already got all the important stuff out. I guess that’s mostly it. You can sleep now. If you want. Or you can keep listening. Oh, you do want. Okay. You can go to sleep now, I guess.