If there were a map of the solar system, but instead of stars it showed people and their degrees of separation, my star would be the one you had to travel the most light-years from to get to his. You would die getting to him.

Inelegantly, and without my consent, time passed.

But, like ivy, we grow where there is room for us.

There was nothing in this world that was not a con, suddenly I understood this. Nothing really mattered, and nothing could be lost.

If there were a map of the solar system, but instead of stars it showed people and their degrees of separation, my star would be the one you had to travel the most light-years from to get to his. You would die getting to him.

He pulled away, but his eyes held my eyes like hands.

Live the dream, Potato.