Bergeron

A Cancers Star Dust

The stars celestial beauty especially amazed me that night. So did Lunas. It was the first time Id
seen her in months without tubes linked to all the extremities of her delicate body. I wished upon every
star that shed live to see the next lunar eclipse or find out if life existed on Mars. She always hoped it
did. Being an astrologist, she was able to tell which constellations were which and which stars were
actually planes; they were usually planes. Being a cancer, she was able to use her empathetic spirit to
comfort me. Even being as sick as she was, she comforted me.
I remember screaming how funny sarcastically to whoever lived inside the lowly dungeons of
my brain. How funny that the girl who embodied a cancer zodiac had been engulfed by cancer itself.
Were the gods playing some sort of cruel joke? Despite the seriousness of the situation, that ethereal angel
of a girl still looked at me like all planes were stars. One that one particular day, breaking the silence that
had formed on the balcony of the WK Hospital, she pulled out a piece of paper from her light blue
hospital gown and read a poem she had written for me:
Stars created everything in the Big Bang, people say/
and so that means were just created from star dust one day./
I like to think maybe each stars dust created two people/
all their body and their hair/
and maybe happiness is created when the dusts from the single star find their pair./
And well, I find happiness when Im with you,/
in all the wonderfully crazy things we do./
Happiness in drinking root beer floats from Cosmic Diner in our homemade fort,/
in playing Interstellar out on the tennis court,/
its in the times we spend screaming at the top of our lungs when we see a shooting star./
Its you and me and our first-bought Ford Galaxie car./
Our love is unique like a code one can never bust,/
and I think maybe oh maybe, its because were made of the same stars dust.

Bergeron
63 years later, and here again I stand on that same balcony at WK hospital, except now Im the
patient. As I look up, I see the stars with their celestial beauty radiating, and I can feel her. Im not a
cancer, but I can feel her. Maybe, oh maybe, its because we are made of the same stars dust. Her voice
rang in my head. Maybe, oh maybe.