Crushed little stars

I can't sleep. Again. These days, it feels less like insomnia and more like I simply have nowhere to go in the morning—no reason to wake up and no one to run to. I lie still for minutes that stretch into eternity, my breath steady, my body heavy, as if made of crushed stars. Stars crushed like my dreams.

At sixteen I thought I'd be a famous singer by twenty-five, but instead the years have piled on like bricks, pressing me down. The reality of it all got to me: I wasn't rich nor did I know someone who could introduce me to the industry. I didn't have a chance. And to be honest, I wasn't even that talented, and I'm still not enough.

I stay like that for some more minutes before sitting straight in bed. I feel the world spinning around me. The world spins around me, and I ache to see it all—to feel every place in my bones. I wish that I could travel more, to not let the jealousy eat me out as I look at my friends' and classmates' posts. Why can't I travel too? Miami, Hawaii, Rome, Paris....

I shake my head. Stop overthinking.

I get up and grab my jacket, put on my shoes, and get out of the apartment. I run down the stairs and walk on the streets in the empty and cold night. I do this often to take a breath from my depressing 'home.' And even if the pollution is bad in this city and the air is dirty, it's still better than my cheap one-room apartment.

I wipe away my tears that are fighting to run down my face and decide to explore more of this city. I walk down the street and think about everything and nothing. I should get a job. Did I leave the door open? I miss mom. How is Freddy from high school doing? Is he still a nerd?

I should get a job...

But I don't have many things written in my CV, do I? I've studied at a modest school in my hometown and entered a psychology university, as per my mother's wish. I also followed a music course in my spare time, my wish and dream. Obviously, it didn't work, and I almost didn't finish anything...but my life. Also, I don't have experience in other jobs, not even part-time, or volunteering. I guess I've been too introverted to get myself out of my comfort zone.

(TW!!)I should've told them that I'm not afraid to die. This shows my experience with life, right? And I'm really not scared. Why should I be? I have scars on my body that demonstrate that.

So I better ace that interview next week.

As I walked, a park appeared, and I decided to rest a little. I look around and choose to sit on a bench under a tree. It looked like a wisteria, but the flowers hadn't bloomed. My favorite type of tree; I even had one in the garden as a child. I look up and admire the moon, bright and beautiful but so out of reach, then move to count the stars in my head.

'There should be around 3000 in the sky and billions more in the universe.' A voice said, and I moved my head in an instant to see who it was. A stranger.

He was standing just in front of me, but far enough to not break boundaries. The boy was tall, with straight black hair running messily down his face, not long, but not short either. His siren eyes were burning into me, and I could not notice how the lit cigarette rested against his plump lips. Overall, his appearance was normal; however, his vibe was unique. He wasn't like all the other boys.

'What?' I said, confused, after the short moment of silence.

'The stars. You were counting them, right?' He simply said.

I look at the stars and then back at him.

'How do you know how many are there?'

'I count them too.'

After another moment of silence, I take a cigarette out of my packet. I look at it in between my fingers. I know I shouldn't smoke: it's unhealthy. Even so, I always thought that, in order to live, you need to have at least one coping mechanism and that a bad coping mechanism is better than death. And the goal is not to die.

I light the cigarette and take a long drag out of it before blowing all of it in the air. He did the same. We stayed in a weird but comfortable silence... until he decided to talk.

"Do you like art?

I raise up my head and look at him, making eye contact.

"Depends on what makes art for you."

"By art I mean music, poetry, sex, paintings, the human body, and literature. All of this is art to me."

I take a drag out of my cigarette and think for a while about it, then I respond.

"I like art then."

He doesn't say anything and just nods. We stare at each other for a while before he puts out his cigarette and throws it in the nearest trash bin.

'That's a green flag.' I think in my head.

"Vivamus, moriendum est," he said suddenly.

I look at him confused. "What?"

"Let us live, since we must die. In other order of words... I know a place downtown. Are you coming?" His gaze observed me up and down, stopping at my eyes for a response before it could get out of my mouth.

I freeze, calculating why I should trust him. I shouldn't. He's a stranger. But I couldn't control my curiosity and responded before I could change my mind.

"Why not?" I shrug my shoulders.

With that, he approached and gave me his hand. I put out my smoked cigarette and take his hand. Soft and warm. He stroked it gently and started walking to a place I didn't know.

"Aren't you scared?" He suddenly asks me.

I think about it for a second.

"I don't have a motive."

"I'm a man."

He stopped in front of a motorcycle and looked at me, taking a helmet while waiting for me to say something.

'You look...human.' I made a short pause.

'Should I be scared?'

He chuckled, and a glimpse of his smile could be seen, and then, without any reply, he got on the motorcycle, and I followed him. I hold on to his waist for stability as the engine comes to life. Once he accelerates, my hands instinctively slide tighter around him, pulling me closer. The rush of wind pushes against us, and when he leans into the turn, I cling more firmly, my arms circling his waist. At my touch, I feel him tensing, but he didn't say anything.

After a while, he stops in front of a nearly finished building, clearly abandoned, as lights flash from the parking lot. We got off the motorcycle and left the helmets there. He starts walking inside the building, and I follow him closely.

'What is this place?'