You told me I strayed, like I was something fixed to the sky and you were surprised to fall asleep without me shining in my usual spot. It is true that I stood constant in the north for so long, but there are always others orbiting around me who pull me in new and interesting ways. Love is not a law. It is not gravity, it is not always falling, and the apple doesn’t always smash against the earth at the end. Love is spinning around at night. It is dancing, light-footed and free. You told me I strayed, but none of us are ever fixed. We are always turning, falling into one another, colliding and destroying and creating. Orbits end, after millions of years, after two. You told me I strayed, but that is what we do. You do not need to look up at me anymore, scour the dark for my usual place. We have ended, but it was beautiful. Do not blame me.