When I was a child, my vision was perfect. 

I saw the world unhindered, crisp.

Tonight I stared out my window

as I lay in bed, and I could not see

the stars.

I can see any difference in color,

but all lines are blurred for me. 

Even my glasses don't wash out that static,

the perlin noise that dominates my world.

I ask myself, tonight, 

if I miss stargazing.

If I miss singing a wish, "star-bright," each night.

I know I miss counting lisence plates,

and reading from across the room,

and sitting in the back row.

But do I miss the stars?

I will never again know what constellations look like,

what a wish feels like,

the streaks of a meteor shower.

I decided I cannot miss the stars,

because I will destroy myself with the parts of the world,

everything I do not and cannot have.

I do not know if I'm lying to myself.