Can't see it midday. It all comes at night. If you're lucky to see it—all the glittering light—you'll know there's something else to it. There are millions more, not just gas and core. It's the distance from suns, and there's more than just one. There's so many of them, and they're so far away. We can't bend time to get there, and can barely even see. The pictures they take give us clues, yet each one is from the past. I don't know my purpose in this, but it's obvious it's minuscule at best. Other oceans in space, busy with life: They are parallel places, unreachable sights. It's strange, but there's something else to it. There are millions more, not just gas and core. There's so many of them, and they're so far away. We can't bend time to get there, and can barely even see. The pictures they take give us clues, yet each one is from the past. I don't know my purpose in this, but it's obvious it's minuscule at best. You see the lights ahead, as they're flying in?
Will they find us first, or will we find them? If we could make the trip, it'd be a giant risk. What if we never find our way back to our little atmosphere again? There's so many of them, and they're so far away. We can't bend time to get there, and can barely even see. The pictures they take give us clues, yet each one is from the past. I don't know my purpose in this, but it's obvious it's minuscule at best.