So here I am, laying on the roof of my apartment building, staring up at the gray mass that is supposed to be the night sky. I sometimes wonder what the stars look like, but the city pollution is too thick to get even a glimpse. I guess imagining what they look like, though, is half the fun of it.

I remember back when I was little, we would go on vacation to the country and we would lay out on the grass and look up at the sky. My mom told me that the stars are little angels disguised as lightning bugs. Every time I would catch a lightning bug in my little five-year-old hands, my mom would say that I found my guardian angel. I would let it go, squealing with laughter, and watch its little green light fading into the night.

Now that I don't remember what the stars look like, I look up and imagine the lightning bugs, clinging to the fabric of the sky, and I wonder which one is my mom. Whenever I feel despair, need help, or just want to be by myself and think, I remember the stars and my mother. It's nice to know that she's still up there, looking down on me.