Max Pearson after "Starry Night in Cleveland," Frank Harris
and watching as the night comes down and each business turns their light off for the evening. It's a kind of magic, how each time one goes out, another star is born. I'm scared of the sky when it's not pitch black because people talk about how each pinprick is an open window to heaven. God is watching, so I promise to buy your tickets tomorrow but you'll be in charge of your own concessions. I'm sorry that you can't see The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame from here. I've asked for a wake-up call, I'm making sure we get there right when the doors open. By the way, I love you, did you know that? I love you but you taste like the dust in the sparkling water that you spilled on my side of the bed, I love you but your melancholy blue nail polish dried on the doorframe and stripped the varnish away, I love you but I don't love you enough to pay the bill for the damages and I don't love you more than Freddie Mercury, who is racing in your left ear and rhapsodizing in my right. Would you turn the bathroom light on before bed? We have to do our part to keep the sky alive, to keep it from being torn up by the stars until heaven breaks through and swallows us whole.
Max Pearson is a senior creative writer at Interlochen Arts Academy. They have received regional recognition for their work from the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards, and their work has previously appeared in The Red Wheelbarrow and The Interlochen Review. They enjoy sour candy and perusing the work of Franz Kafka, and think that long walks on the beach are overrated.
