Inches to the galaxies.

Resting in the grasses of an unfamiliar place, I close my eyes to imagine, first, what dances on the outside of my lids. I thought my mind could paint a prettier picture, but the moon proved me wrong.

You swear the man winked at you. You're very good at making a mere coincidence a cry for attention. Superstitions do not exist. We can, however, argue of fate until the fireballs of hope fade away and dawn breaks our train of thought. Nature is the only thing, so far, that leaves me speechless. Something living, breathing, and that unconditionally beautiful is light years away.