l know you, yet I don’t understand you. You don’t know me, yet you understand me. How ironic that paradox can construct a preordained singularity. If ever that cell were to separate and create new choices, it would explore the darkness, where the light is swallowed into contrived destinations.
 

How many times would we meet again for the first time? How many times would the mercury rise with the temperature of a fiery Vegas summer day? A broken telescope. Yet the urge to explore a fading yet familiar galaxy overpowers the necessity for oxygen and the terrifying vastness of the endless darkness.
 

The stars will guide you. You’ll see Orion’s Belt. You’ll come to understand why I looked at those stars every night. Because I saw you. And I’ll meet you where the stars are born and the clouds nurture the light and make the darkness just a little bit lighter. All we have to do is help them grow. Then we can ride on their backs, however blinding, ahead of time. Ahead of what could kill us. Ahead of what could make us beautiful. And so we choose, hand in hand, however hard that choice may be.