Eli stood firm with his head cocked back so that he could stare straight up to view the night sky. He viewed a great beyond, dotted with subtle freckles of light here and there. Silence was the accompaniment of the occasion, and every now and again it seemed his mind could place patterns in the way the stars hung, and it appeared the vespers were connected by faint lines. He knew, however, that it was merely his eyes playing tricks on him. The sky was a black canvas, and the longer he looked, the deeper it appeared. He remembered his teachers in science class saying that some stars had died out millions of years ago and that the light we see in the sky simply hasn't reached Earth yet.
It was a melancholic moment; to think: the brilliant light of a star could merely be the grandeur of a glory long gone. Eli lowered his head. He told himself he wouldn't think of her; he told himself he would forget. He would come outside, look at the stars, put it in “perspective.” No. It was futile. After a deep sigh, Eli walked across the weathered boards of his back porch to the door, opened it, locking the door behind him as he entered, and sunk lethargically into his recliner. He had no words; loud emotion enveloped a solemn man. Turning on the TV was useless, and he eventually decided he couldn't focus. He tried calling her. Once…twice…four times. Nothing. Even the stars live in the past, he thought to himself, remembering how close they were at one time. His stomach tore and writhed. Her smile made him anxious, her eyes were like stardust illuminated by a distant sun. She was a spectacle, a marvel that danced around him when they walked the historic district. Nothing about her was commonplace, but everything about her absence was. The days without her voice were deafening. The air was stagnant.
Eli raised from the chair and walked down the hall, scuffing his feet across the aged carpet. He changed into more comfortable clothes, then went to bed. Another day had gone; another day wasted. He laid for a while, then slumber took him. A chilly autumn night, once more, alone, but even worse: once more, mundane.