spatial ashes

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"Do you think people go to space to learn how to fly?" he asked her, admiring the galaxies humming in his mind but reflecting in her eyes.

"I think they go to space for perspective," she said, her galaxy eyes still staring at the stars in the sky (but hers are much more brighter). "It must be a surreal feeling to be standing on the moon and seeing our entire world reduced to just a spherical shape, right?"

"But humans have always wanted what they could not do," he told her arguably. "Think about it. We can't fly, so we made air balloons, airplanes, jetpacks. But being allowed to defy gravity without artificial equipment?" He shook his head in awe. "It must be insane."

"What's insane," she taunted, "is seeing all your trees and oceans and clouds—which already seem so full and real and too much—compressed into something so crazy already! We're living on a huge ball, with roads and land that have so many dimensions to it—all just a globe. Everything you know is just in front of you."

"So do you think it's like pretending to be God?" he said. "Having the world at your fingertips?"

She nodded, then shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. Do people go to space knowing the magnitude of how really huge our universe is? It's like living in a small box all your life and then finding this window to the outside world."

"What would you do? If you went out to space?"

"I think I'd stick to exploring my own world first," she said cheekily, and he smirked.

She sprinkled her galaxies onto the small planet of blue and green, expanding as she opens her mouth. "But the only time I will go into space, will be when I am ready to give my stardust back to the universe."

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