I come from a small town, a village actually. Carey, Ohio. Population 3,663. There was never any shortage of cornfields or small town football pride. Growing up, I always hated the fact that I was from such a small town. I hated that everyone knew everyone, I hated the fact that we all knew everything about each other. And I hated the fact that it was so damn small. But in my absence, I’ve come to find an appreciation for several things from my village; in specific, the stars.
I miss the stars in Carey. Not because they shine so much brighter than those of Athens or Columbus (my current homes). Not because they are wide, and open, and vastly expansive. Not because they always seem to be out no matter the weather. I miss the stars in Carey because I’ve always shared them with the people that I care about.
They were innocent, and they were beautiful. Somehow, they managed to mean everything and nothing at the same time. They were there through times of happiness and times of sadness. They were especially there during the times of confusion, the times when I just needed to let my mind escape. But those stars were always there. Through most of the defining moments of my life those Carey stars were watching.
Really, those stars aren’t stars at all. They represent moments, and emotions, and people who I have loved and who I have lost. Those Carey stars will never be far away, no matter the city, or state, or country that my being may reside in. Because those Carey stars are me.