He called himself Stardust, but one of my friends told me his name was Jean. I met him during the summer I worked at the cotton candy stand when the circus came through town.

He was made of big dreams, sunshine, and raw sense of being that I’d never known existed before him. His eyes were black as mud, his lips were the same color as the cotton candy I sold, and his smile could put a solar eclipse to shame.

He was everything I wasn’t. He was the first man I ever loved, and he left without me ever telling him that the way he looked at me broke my heart.

I’m older now, and even if that circus never comes through town again, I’ll still call him Stardust.