What Dreams are Made of
DescriptionI wish I may, I wish I might...
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Gravity was below us, but we there was still something weighing us down. The vastness, the emptiness, the oxymora of the universe. Perhaps I felt it most of all. I clung to the side of the shuttle, for no reason other than wanting to be there in our precious spare time. We were moving at 30,000 kilometers an hour, but I felt not an inch of it. I was completely out of focus of space, the thing I had mainly believed I wanted to be here for. All those days, months, and years I had stood in the field, in the brightest nights, marveling at the worlds above us. Venus, Mars, Saturn...all of them. So close, so far away. I had dreamed for so long to get here, and now I was putting all of my attention on my home. It was marvelous, giant and blue and white. A storm was over the Pacific, so large, so small, and I could see it in its entirety. Somewhere, down there, somebody was looking back up. In a few hours we would be facing the dark side of the planet. Somebody would be looking back up at us, a teenager perhaps. Someone with dreams, just like me. The planet was so...big, so...small. I could hold out my hands and hold the entirety of it in them. A tear could flood it. So beautiful, and big, and small. So blue. So...crushing. My whole life I had dreamed of being here, right here. And now...it was too much. To see my home, so big, reduced to something so small, was too much. There were much bigger things out here, much bigger things that could also be so much smaller. Nothing was as it should be, everything was the most dangerous weapon. All this beauty was out here, defenseless. They would crash, they would explode, they would be sucked away. Stars would collapse on themselves, physics bringing about the imminent breaking of the universe. Too much. Too much beauty, too much disaster. I pulled the cord, and let my oxygen eject into space. Perhaps, for something, some day it would be big, and later small. Maybe it would be beautiful. Maybe it would destroy some small rock upon which life had sprung in the tiniest form. Maybe my body would be the same.