Elon “needs space”

Herbal tea, 9am and quite cloudy. It’s been like this for 2 weeks. Elon won’t look up from his mug. I’m boggled; just a month ago, weren’t we conquerors of the Heavens? Our lives were so Blade Runner. He brought me the most beautiful Martian rocks. He went on, and on, AND ON about Pluto. Said it’s small size was an illusion. He told me, he would re-prove it’s status…and rename it after me. Righteous beyond belief. That same day, staring out a window…

With every rocket, another star speaks your name for the first time. The dull sun does not set, we wring out the empty void like a sponge, in your image.

Naivety. Mother said I had a penchant for it. Prophetic, her love for astrology. What a fucking farce. Orion’s Belt might as well be Gucci; these phenomena have had their shrouds pulled back. Calculated robotic grace.

And yet, here I am. Sobbing into my earl grey. Not a glance.

He finally told me. He, “needed space.” We spent Earth Christmas circling Alpha Centauri last year. I never truly thought I would feel mortal again. I would especially not expect to feel it with my hands wrapped around cold porcelain at breakfast. It was too early in the day for my book of revelations. Infinity comes to an end, with soft words, amid grey skies.

To him, the galaxy was a snow-globe. Bounded, finite, full of wonder. Seems I am much the same. Moreso, easier to shelve.