The song of the stars

by Kat

The song of the stars is so much quieter than I remember.

In this state, I’m rarely listening for the sounds of nature. I know how to listen to silence.

How to not ask the stories she’s aren’t ready to tell.


So I often sit with stories untold. Waiting until these little girls turned women too soon — still children too — whose emotions overwhelm them.

It’s okay to be angry. It’s good to be angry. It makes sense you would be angry. I’m here. I’m listening. 

Often this dialogue is merely subtext — between sips of coffee, entering conversation — forgetting nuances — social niceties —


I talk. She listens. She talks. I listen. The unsaid screams until it’s all I can hear, but I cannot name what happened. Because I can’t know. Won’t know. Often know.

But this isn’t my story to tell. It’s hers. I fill the silence with validation. With repetitions of the obvious. Until feelings return to the face before me.


Two women sitting together in a cafe. Facing a world that often demands our smallness — no space at all; until we are nothing but our fears. Our anger. Our right to feel hurt. Be hurt. These are forgotten. 

Forced to forget the past, we lose these little girls who felt everything. That hurt until feelings stopped. A circuit broken by the violence of words.


When she begins to say the words aloud — I make space for lies, half-truths, and not yets. I know the story, but I don’t. It’s like a half-remembered melody barely heard. But I can feel the rhythm of music unfinished.


Suspecting abuse, I stay quiet — because I’m making space for her words. I begin to ask hows. Whys are best unknown. Differential diagnosing in my head. 


How bad? How long? What would even help? Do you want help? 

All of these questions echo in my mind as I listen for the harmony of silences. Nonexistent parents. No caregivers. A girl who raised herself. 

This is she. This is me. This is all of us. Making family where that word brought only pain. 


We are survivors of who knows what. Relentlessly braving what should have never been. And I am here until she is ready to join this chorus of shouting starlight.

Into skies of grey and black. Imagining the blue and purple of who we could be. Are together in the nighttime.

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