Sometimes I dream about him but lately I sit in my small rowboat on the other side of the Milky Way, watching and waiting. During the day the stars have faded, too light to see from down there but from up here the sky is only a darker blue and the stars, milky and smeared, shine like they were just given their favorite ice cream cones to eat. Cherry Garcia, Neapolitan, Mocha Almond Fudge, Coffee, and Raspberry Sorbet melt in seductive drips down the sapphire sky.
At night it's the Blaze of Heavens. The fire and passion of millions of shimmering stars, twinkling and beckoning. Every day and night the stars remind us over and over, without tiring, of all the things we are ignoring, of all the things we are missing. The stars reach out for us. They know we need to be blinded by beauty and wonder. They're waiting for us to look up finally and see.
I imagine him in his own little boat, rowing away and minding his own business. We are not on the same paths, nor have we ever been. Still, I hope and wish for a moment when he stops rowing long enough to see me on the other side of that galaxy. I imagine he will know me and will put his oars down. I'll lean forward, reaching across those stars to him, and he will have waited long enough to know it's right time. There will be no freezing cold vacuum of space or the deadly fires of comets, just the friendly twinkling of the stars. Just the helping hand of the Universe.
We'll finally clasp hands again and everything will fall into place. We'll run along the stars' paths and the orbits of happy planets. The true Universe will come gently and truthfully into view bearing nothing but gifts and riches.