I fall in love with stars. Literal ones. I watch the skies and fold into myself and explore and discover; learn to burst and slip and shimmy in the brightest light I will ever see, the most beautiful tension I cannot feel. On cold nights, on warm nights, the skies are there, ever-expanding above my head into an oblivion I can only know through books. And firelight. And soft, gooey treats shared with loved ones who are as rapt in their observations of the sky as me.
It's not the constellations that catch me, though I wish I knew more about the forms. It's the stories and the connection inherent in a bright night sky, stars I can stare at and know that somewhere, someone I don't even know is looking at the same stars and maybe even thinking similar thoughts. There's something powerful about starlight, the way it describes even the most mediocre of lovers, the way it brings to mind "star-crossed" and "destined for the stars" and any other number of beautiful (if painful) images and associations.
I fall in love with stars because no one ever taught me how not to romanticize the skies. I can learn about space all I want, but everywhere I turn, starlight is associated with the old myths, the old gods, the love of a woman and the heroics of a man. I don't believe in traditional gender roles and I sometimes think love is made to be compelling even when it isn't, but starlight-- Starlight is always interesting and passion-inspiring and incredible. And I will watch the skies until the world burns, because they represent such endless possibility for so many of us who are lost in this world.