I want to see the starlight again

I am possessed by the thought. Typical of me. I don't care what it is, as long as I can obsess over it.

I look out the window. Trees. Birches, to be exact. Their long, skeletal branches loll to and fro slowly in the night. Between their black spidery fingers I can see a light. My neighbour is... I don't know what it is he is doing. His hand reaches forward.

He turns off the light and I am in the dark again. Traitor.

I turn away. My apartment is unsightly as ever. I should get cleaning, but with the birch seeds storming in all day long, I don't see the point.

It's the point that's missing. The infamous point that is on everybody's lips when they talk about meaning. The point, the king of meaning. Or the emperor, even? Empress.

I decide that the seeds dotting my floor more and more are actually welcome. A living presence, in a way. Organic. But is organic the same as living?

I let trees sow their seed on my floor, yet I let my cactus slowly wither away from lack of moisture and new dirt. I turn away from car windows because I can't see the people behind them. Empty cars I like. Empty houses and empty buildings. Empty yards are nice.

Anything abandoned and cold. Dark, I like too. Darkness is like a warm blanket protecting me from all eyes. The ones I can't see throught the windshields.

Come a person and I jump. I hurry away. At home I look out the window to see another one.

If only I could see the starlight from here.