Your eyes can’t hold stars and you’d die if your heart really skipped.

The window becomes a dreary place to be, hallucinating in the gray, the concrete darkening before my eyes. The rain continues its two-day fury, the wind whipping anything in its path. The streets have become flooded, the raindrops silenced as they land on water that has not yet ebbed. I can’t think, as always, watching the streetlights with their amber glow, watching the backside lot just to see the missing chunk of gravel become the perfect size to hold a puddle of rainwater.

How tragic is my life, in comparison to others? Am I wallowing in too much self-pity, keeping myself in my bubble for too long?

I twist the door open against my better judgment, knocking on the door of my next door neighbors, an elderly couple. Thankfully, the paper-thin walls let me hear only the sound of a dramatic soap opera being played on their television. After a second, the door opens a hair, enough for me to see that it’s Marjorie I’m talking to, and not Peter.

“Oh, Maisie. What can I do for you on this rainy day?”

I plaster on my biggest smile. Marjorie is a hard woman to please in terms of social refinement, a concept that I have absolutely no knowledge of.

“Do you need anything from the store? I’ll be happy to walk down and get your errands done for you.”

“Oh! How kind of you. In fact, that would be absolutely wonderful. Let me just go ask Peter for the list quickly.” The door swings shut in my face, and I even make out the sound of the deadbolt being latched. The seconds that I stand, unwelcomed, in front of the closed door are enough for me to feel the cold of outside, making the hair on my arms stand straight up. A few seconds later, the shuffling of slippers precedes the door, and Marjorie’s entire face is revealed, as well as her pajamas, a loose gray set.

“Here you go, Maisie. Now, mind you, Peter doesn’t like his cheese to be anything else other than cheddar. And please, the Irish potatoes are the only type that I’ll eat.” Marjorie’s eyes bug out at me. I can tell that with each specific requirement, her faith in me is growing lower, her regret climbing, and her doubt taking full swing.

“Irish potatoes and cheddar cheese. Do you need some butter? Or toast?”

Marjorie curls her lip. “Oh, heavens no! Butter on toast is not for refined citizens like Peter and myself. But you do whatever you feel like doing. It’s not like the elderly have any control nowadays. When you’re coming back, do be careful. Should you get the groceries wet, this place will stink for weeks.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I smile as warmly as I can before ducking away to descend the rickety stairs, small in size and almost an inch and a half apart from each other. By the time I make it down, I almost wish that I hadn’t knocked on Marjorie’s door, or that she had taken back her list. I glance at it, crumpled in my hand from me concentrating on making the leaps down each step.

Potatoes. Milk. Cheese. Collard greens. Bath towels, purple and blue. Sponge and hand soap.

I feel compelled to stay still underneath the roof of the apartment complex, which provides shelter from the crest of thunder that rumbles and rolls over me as I watch the rain soak in. Motor cars hurtle past on the slick paths, water splashing high from the impact of the churning wheels, racing towards a destination set in stone and a warm, homely place. Drenched in loneliness and cigars, I wonder if any of these silhouettes were once familiar faces.

The night is dark and howls my name. I tell myself I don’t care that much, but I know that I do. Once upon a time, the dark would’ve been my safe place, watching the light fade from the sidewalk, twirling by myself through the front lawn as cars sped past, going too fast to notice the small girl enclosed in a bubble. Now, I feel unsafe, bordering between prey and predator. Or maybe, just the very lost and confused.

I don’t hesitate before plunging out into the open. The droplets that collect on my skin and dot my clothing are surprisingly refreshing. Then again, it’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything other than cold and hot and tired. Distantly, the sound of a violin begins to play. For a moment I stop walking, letting my clothes deflate against my body, wondering if I’m really going a little insane, when I spot, almost extraordinarily, Finneas the musician, beginning to showcase his talents.

The thing about living in the slums is, you get to know everyone who’s anyone even remotely decent, since they’re all in the same boat as you. It’s like a buddy system. Have the right friends in the dumps, and maybe one day they’ll get out and pull you along with them. I talent-spotted Finneas the first time I saw him, from the messy waves of his shoulder-length hair to his tidy violin case that didn’t match his scuffed shoes, which are still worse for the wear. The first time I heard him play, I promised myself that should I ever become a famous agent, Finneas would be my gold star client. I haven’t seen him since he paid his respects to my parents after the funeral, but now I stride towards him with a genuine smile, letting the notes of the violin carry me into the world of Finneas.

I sway to the notes of the Arpeggio, which Finneas plays near perfectly. In the moment, it seems only appropriate that I’d want to dance and twirl beneath the storm clouds.

“Finn,” I call lightly.

The violin slows. Finneas turns. Upon seeing me, an unsure smile breaks across his face. “Maisie. I’m so glad you’re! I’ve been needing to talk to you. That’s good luck, you know, which I really need.” Finneas strides to me, violin and bow in hand, a cloud of leather and long hair and peace and light in the rain. When he nears me, he kisses my hand.

Finneas is a whirlpool. Incredibly talented, yet hot and cold, intense and whimsical. A drug of sorts. I would be lying if I told myself that is piercing icy blue eyes weren’t blindingly tempting.

“How are you?” I ask, smiling against myself as I take in Finneas’ familiar smell; completely natural earthy notes, or better described as a mellow coffee.

“Excited,” Finneas replies, pulling away to make a grand sweep with his arm. “There’s no better feeling than to play your heart out to a weeping street. I think this is good preparation for New York.” His eyes alight with a blue fire. “I’m moving down there, in a week.”

“What?” The shock in my voice comes naturally, feeling almost betrayed by this sudden announcement.

Finneas grins wide, running a hand through his tangled locks. “It’ll be a good chance to start making a name for myself and earn cash on the streets. All the dreamers are there, baby.”

I tip my head to the side, nodding. “You’ll do amazing in New York, I’m sure.” I try to ignore the feelings of sadness pulling down inside me, not sure of whether it has to do with Finneas leaving for the city of dreams or me staying behind.

“Aw, Maisie, you’re something real special. You’ve got great things coming. This is just the tip of the iceberg for both of us. I’m going to experiment with my life, but that doesn’t mean that this is where it ends for us. Anyways, you okay?”

I blink away the overwhelming wave of almost nausea as I nod as calmly as I can. “Alright. Hanging in there, I guess you could say. It’s like an emptiness, a hole that’s always there. I guess I’m just numbing myself to cope.”

Finneas’ voice dips ominously, and he takes my hand, pulling me gently towards the dry area beneath the sloping roof of a boarded-up shop. “Maisie, that emptiness—it’s a monster. It’ll mince you. And do you know how long it takes to put yourself back together again? This vision I have for you—it doesn’t involve being knocked down. You’re going to carry on, you hear me? You’re going to show the world the strong warrior that you are.” His eyes, frosty against the dark gray, pierce through me, swelling with a fierce sorrow.

Shaken, I release myself from his grasp. Stepping back out onto the street and feeling the biting chill, returning Finneas’ intense, glowing stare, I feel surreal.

“I appreciate it, Finneas. Best of luck. I have to go finish running an errand, but I won’t let it get to me.” I briefly lift up my hand in a sort of farewell, but before I can leave, Finneas lays his instrument carefully on the concrete before rushing to kiss me on both cheeks.

“This isn’t the end. You and I, we’re both dreamers, Maisie.” Finneas holds me in his hypnotizing eyes once more, before giving me one final nod. “I’ll see you again, whether it be here, in New York, or wherever we’ve found our wings.”

It takes a while to regain my breath as I walk away from Finneas, heading swiftly down the street to the avenue where all the grocery stores are. To be completely truthful to myself, I have to admit that there’s a spark between Finneas and I. The wild boy, not unreachable, just unpredictable. And within him, a diamond in the rough, something shining so bright I just can’t ignore it. To think of this beautiful tornado in human form leaving me like everything else I’ve grown attached to, makes my heart break a little for what could’ve been. Maybe we could’ve smoked cigarettes in alleyways together, and Finneas would’ve showed me how to be free.

When I look up to scout the rest of my route, I stop abruptly. Something stands in my way. I hear the smooth voice before I see the face, but something about it gets my heart racing again.

“Maisie. Here we are again.”