Most Likely to Become a Star
Meet me at the Starlight Diner.
You can make it there by rocket, or by winding drive. Past the church on the corner with the cemetery behind it. Follow the curve where the the wind whips the leaves into spirals, where the tree line swallows you whole. Keep going, just follow that road and try not to get lost in our memories along the way. The late nights and early texts will peek out from behind the trees. Unearth what we could have said from the fallen leaves. What we did say the last time we were both seen. Like, you told me once I was made of stardust. Did you mean for it to mean so much? Did you mean for it to lift me up enough that I would lift off? Out of here. Will I see you there?
It's not too far ahead, but it's really hard to tell. When you get where you think you're going, just keep going. It will look a bit familiar, but it's not quite how you remember it to be. Never is, really. Go on, past three homes made of stacked stone, the ones with the wrap around porches made for iced tea pitchers on a humid afternoon. The kind of surface-pretty places that look too good to be true, that function as Hallmark made-for-tv-movie backdrops as long as you don't ever look in their basements. Who knows what they're hiding, but you know it's something. Approach the crossroads, then go two stops past those. Around the bend of NO RETURN. Make your way beyond the horses waiting, kiddy-corner from the pasture of cows wandering. If the moon isn't lit well enough to see the place, just follow the buzz of the neon lights. And that's it. You're now approaching Starlight.
Don't come for the coffee, but will you meet me for a cup? I'll be at the part of the counter that's worn in all the right ways. Don't worry about what to eat; they always serve up the sunday special (with gravy) with your choice of egg. Do you still prefer them over easy? I wonder what else may have changed. It's been a while, so I'm worried that you might not recognize me anymore. You don't know that I'll be there, or what I'll look like when you get here (I'd like to think I've changed a bit, you know?) But you'll likely catch on; I still leave glitter everywhere I go. I hope you make it while the coffee's still hot. Sure, I could always put on another pot but it won't be the same. So if you could try to be on time, great, but don't let that keep you from taking your time. I lose track of time when I'm with you so I hope you can hold your own. Reality bites, but this is the kind of place where the minutes become moments because you can't tell if time is slowing down or speeding up. It's part of its magic. The way it shines, like you do (but you're still out of reach). I still sparkle but I'm out of touch. I wonder if that's what you meant by stardust?