I love watching the stars from Here. Somehow, they seem closer, more tangible here than they ever did when I was in the backyard watching them with you. But here, in this place, the stars are cold and they remain nameless to me because you are not here to tell me their given names. It's when the stars come out that I think of you the most, Daddy.

Sometimes, I will just sit down and watch you. I always loved watching you perform. You can't imagine the looks of jealousy I got when I told my friends that my father was a psychic. You were always so clever with your tricks. I used to think you were a magician straight out of a fairytale. But time spent Here has taken away my naïveté. You are no magic man. You are not invincible like I thought.

I did not know you could cry until the first day that I came here. Momma and I sat on a bench and watched in silence as tears moved down your face. I had never seen you sad like that before. You always smiled at me and now it felt as if you were staring right through me. It hurt to know I couldn't run up to you, if I tried you would only continue to stand motionless in front of the two headstones.

I know Momma hurt too because she kept watching you. She never said anything. She just watched. Watched as you stood there at that lonely spot for hours, just staring at marble stone. I soon grew impatient with just sitting. I came to stand beside you, curious to know what was on the stones that had you so enraptured.

I saw Momma's name first, engraved in cursive. Vivette Jane looked so beautiful on the dark marble. My eyes followed the curving letters to another name. My name. Riley Jane was clearly marked on the unblemished stone. I knew something was wrong when Momma had sat me down on that bench and held me. But it was then I knew exactly what was wrong here. Momma was dead…and so was I.

I know for a fact that you don't look at the stars anymore. At least, not in the way you used to look at them with me. I don't think you appreciate them anymore. Have they turned cold for you too?

When you would come and carry me out of my bed and bring me out into the refreshing air, you would always tell me the same story because you knew I would never tire of hearing it.

When the creation was new and all the stars shone in their first
splendor, the gods held their assembly in the sky and sang
`Oh, the picture of perfection! the joy unalloyed!'

But one cried of a sudden
---`It seems that somewhere there is a break in the chain of light
and one of the stars has been lost.'

The golden string of their harp snapped,
their song stopped, and they cried in dismay
---`Yes, that lost star was the best,
she was the glory of all heavens!'

From that day the search is unceasing for her,
and the cry goes on from one to the other
that in her the world has lost its one joy!

Only in the deepest silence of night the stars smile
and whisper among themselves
---`Vain is this seeking! unbroken perfection is over all!'

I always pictured this loss star as a beautiful woman just sitting and waiting on a blanket of black. She was not really lost, she was just waiting for the silly gods to realize she was there. I told you about this image in my head once. I wonder if you still remember.

I remember. I remember my neck aching from staring out overhead and I remember never really noticing the cold until you carried me back inside the house. I remember breathing in your familiar scent and the way you rubbed your hands over my feet to get rid of the night's chill.

The stars were always so beautiful when we watched them from our backyard. They drew us out into the night and warmed us with their presence. The stars look the same Here as they did There. But they are different. I can't watch these stars with you, Daddy.

I really felt like posting this. Just because I don't feel as if the Jane family gets enough attention and I needed something to get my creative juices flowing for my other stories.

The poem is Lost Star by Rabindranath Tagore (boy, what a mouthful)