A few weeks ago I had a had a dream, no joke.

Jacob and I were in invisible recliners speeding through space.  The earth was a receding sphere behind us, slowly shrinking in our peripheral vision.  Clouds floated above the receding sphere like puff paint.

Every story, every idea, every life (and death) that ever was. Every kiss between lovers and mournful howl when those lovers were lost.  Every saint and harlot, every dictator with his dogma. All of it shrinking under those puff paint clouds.

We moved quickly, the cosmos glided past.  Stars came to life and died in front of us. We watched time because we were outside of it, like spectators on the Spaceship Earth ride at Disney World.

We’re just a little blip, one of us said.  “Blip” was the word in we used.

And we held one another’s hands tightly.  I could feel his hand in my dream.

We didn’t matter, but we mattered.

We crunched stars together in our palms, and the cosmos glided past us like butter.

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