Today you and I had a farewell afternoon date at the planetarium. Because geekdom aside, sometimes it's nice to sit in a dark room and look up at the stars and ponder the infinite.
As far as I have seen, you and I? We've been orbiting around each other for quite some time.
In the light of eternity, however, your life and mine are but a twinkle. Tiny specks of stardust.
Gazing at the skyscape today --somewhere in between when you drifted off and the Star Wars boy tuned in--there was mention of these exoplanets. Existing within this same galaxy. Revolving around their own little stars. Some with storms that go on for a hundred years or more.
Which made me think about this microgalaxy you and I inhabit, and the gravity that pulls us closer, closer against threats of meteors that strike and throw us off-kilter.
I considered that storm that sometimes feels as though it's been thundering through me for hundreds of years. Strong and fierce, rumbling and consuming.
Today let's live in the light of the same star, trying hard not to eclipse one another, holding our places in this galaxy, vast and full of unknowns. Wherever I am next to you, though, I must be home.