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Your Papa’s head was in the stars, Mama likes to say. His head, and his heart.
Born for it. Flying by five, mouth smiling so wide it almost split him in two, Abuelo confirms.
Evening spreads fast; Mama waits, but not for long.
The door swings wide and Papa, hands dirt-full, walks in, soaked by Yavini storm, the kind that happens each day but Mama still laughs over, bright like nothing bad ever touched her.
He sings - Estrella, I’m home. His eyes, clear and smile-wrinkled.
Papa’s heart used to be in the stars, Mama says. But now it’s right here.