There was a shooting star last night. Some would call it a falling star. A million miles away. Shiny thing up in the sky. Moving. We watched till it diminished into nothing. Maybe it burned out. Perhaps it landed over in a field in Nebraska. Maybe China. I held her hand as it moved across the sky. A yellow moon shined down on us. I knew it’d be the last time.

The river glistened in the early morning light. I woke up on the banks of the Ohio. A bottle of wine was knocked over on it’s side in the tall grass. Two glasses. We drank wine in glasses. We had some class about us. A Mexican blanket covered us both; colors of aqua, blue, orange and yellow. I tried to wake her. I tried. She laid there with spit coming from her mouth. Forehead was cold.

I checked her pulse. Nothing there. Tried to listen to a heart beat. There was no rhythm. Her eyes looked up at God. I closed them. Green eyes never to see again. A needle stuck in her arm.

There was a shooting star last night. Some would call it a falling star. She was now a million miles away.