We are the ants

We floated free and unfettered. Maybe love doesn't require falling after all. Maybe it only requires that you choose to be in it.

A world with people like you in it can't be totally crap, right?

I was Henry Denton and I was Space Boy. I was broken and I was beautiful. I was nothing and I was everything. I didn't matter to the universe, but I mattered to him.

Last night I was created from light. Spotlights and patio lights and campfire lights and Christmas lights still up in summer. Sunlight and moonlight and starlight and light that's taken a million, million years to arrive. I was made of them all.

I like people, not the parts they have. Well, I mean, I definitely like the parts; they're just not why I like the person.

He kissed me like the world had fallen out from under our feet. We were two bodies floating in space, brighter than stars.

He looked at me like I was someone other than Space Boy, a way that was impossible and endless. Diego looked at me and saw me. No one had seen me since Jesse.

Diego laughed, and I wanted to preserve the sound in a jar for the days when laughter was scarce.

I can't help thinking that if we live long enough, we'll all eventually forget the lives we've lived. The faces of people closest to us, the memories we swore we'd hold on for the rest of our lives. First kisses and last kisses and all the passion between the years.

I was surrounded by heaven. The sun, the moon, the earth, and all those living stars. They weren't static like in pictures taken from impossibly far away—they breathed, they glowed. They were future and past, possibility and memory. They were beautiful.