Here we are again.
It's not the ideal stargazing spot, to be honest. Streetlights dot the side of the parking lot and lead into a nearby highway. Even if there were no lights, it's a busy enough highway that even at this time of night, there are enough cars to brighten the road and distract us from the stars. But where can you go in a city when it's below freezing in April? So, we sit in the car, staring up at the sky with the faintest hope we might see just one falling meteor.
I'm not really sure I care. I look over at you, fiddling with your phone, and you catch me and smile.
I could spend my life like this. I don't care what we're doing. Even visiting a parking lot at 2 AM feels like an adventure. We move to another location with hope that we will be able to see some falling meteors there, but have no success. It's just as well-lit there, meaning that even if there were falling meteors, we likely would miss them. We decide to head back home, our adventure short-lived by the lack of unlit places.
To some, this might be a failure. We didn't see any meteors. I didn't think of it that way, though.
On our way back, I start to drift to sleep, lulled by the motion of the car. I nod awake long enough to see you're giving me that look--the one that you always give me when I randomly fall asleep (this happens more often than I'd like to let on).
I'd like nothing more than to freeze time and keep this moment forever.