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ᴡɪꜱʜ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴀʀ (ᴀɴᴅ ꜰʟʏ ᴀᴡᴀʏ)
in another universe, my window is open and i'm laying on my floor. i am twelve years old. nothing bad has happened to me.
Laying on his bedroom floor, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars that he and Pat stuck up there a few weeks ago, Pran wishes that everything would be as simple as sticking plastic stars to his ceiling.
But they're not, and Pat climbing through the window attests to that.
If life was simple, Pat wouldn't have to use the window to visit.
If life was simple, they would be able to use the front doors of their houses.
If life was simple, they wouldn't have to sneak around behind their parents' backs just to see each other.
It isn't. It won't be.
Pat and Pran lay quietly on the bedroom floor, staring up at the fake stars and wishing that they were real.
Wishing that they could run away to one of the stars and be free.
Wishing that they weren't only twelve years old. wishing that they were older and more capable.
But they're not.
They're only twelve, and they're bearing the burden of their parents' hatred for one another.
They're only twelve, and there will never be a chance for them to be friends in the way that they want.
They're only twelve, and the past is their burden to carry.
Pat and Pray lay there in silence, their hands slowly creeping across the carpet until they touch.
Pinkies interlace, flesh against flesh; warm and human.
They hold on for dear life, not daring to fully press their hands together.
They're scared. far too scared.
Pran wonders which one of them will bridge the gap. Which one of them will be the one to latch on, finally, and never let the other go again.
He doesn't think that it will be him. But maybe Pat will.
Pat has always been the more reckless one of them both.
He loves him for it.
Maybe, if they could run away to one of their stars, maybe they could be more than friends; more than best friends.
Maybe Pran could kiss Pat without fear.
Maybe Pat could hug Pran without his fear.
Maybe they could... Maybe they could love each other like they want to.
But they can't.
They are only twelve, staring up at a ceiling of false hope, wishing that they could be free of the burden of their parents' past.
They can't ever be Pat and Pran. All they can ever be are their parents' children.
