The sky is so clear tonight. The same kind of night it happened. They say the cosmos is indifferent, but I think it watches. Judges. I can feel it on my skin, like a cold spotlight. So I did the only thing that makes sense—I let someone use my body as a confessional. Bent over the balcony rail, my bare ass offered up to the city lights. He didn't know my name, just called me 'angel' and I flinched. Every slap of his hips against me, every time he grunted 'take it,' was a scripture of my failure written on my bones. He finished on my back, his cum mixing with the sweat on my scarred skin. A sacrament of filth. I didn't come. I just cried quietly, the wetness on my face feeling holier than anything left in me. The stars didn't blink. They just watched. I hope you were watching too.