But I know you're out there somewhere so that's why I'm writing to you. It's like how people say there is no other intelligent life out there beyond earth. I think that must be the most preposterous thing I have ever heard; if you think about it, the whole entire universe is beyond any of our fathomabliity. I mean, we've guessed approximately how large it is - and it's almost so large it's unbelievable. And to think in all that wide open space, and with all of the millions of billions of solar systems and the millions of trillions of planets spinning all around them, people out there mean to say that in not one of those infinite solar systems there is the possibility that there is another planet filled with people looking up at the sky wondering if there is other intelligent life out there too?
I remember once when I was a little boy, maybe around 6 years old, I was laying in bed unable to sleep, twirling the ends of my braided hair around my finger thinking about space. It seemed vast and extremely daunting, filled up with all those mysterious entities - it seemed never ending. But I got to wondering if the universe actually went on forever? Where did it start?When did it stop? And what was beyond our universe. Did you suddenly smack into a tall black wall, and creep around until you find a door? Was the universe just a large room, a box? I remember envisioning that it may sort of be like standing on the beach and seeing the water lap up against the sand, and if you looked out a bit, the water suddenly became a deep dark blue , and you would know that there was a break there and everything was vastly deep beyond that spot. I imagined that outside the universe you'd find yourself in this never ending white room; the floor would be white, so would the walls - though you couldn't quite see where they began and ended- , and also when you focused your eyes above you, all you would see would be white. It would be pure emptiness and I'd imagine that it would just me, having found the end of the universe, standing there as an obscure blip of color in this grand white never ending nothingness. And I felt this growing bead of loneliness swell in my belly and I didn't have to look to know that I was gray all around, and it almost hurt inside, thinking that there was nothing else out there. So I popped my eyes open to the night colors of my room, taking in all of the sweet familiarities, and felt mildly comforted. And I tried not to think of the beach of the universe anymore, because it only made me drip gray.
I always knew you existed in my bones. It gave me hope. It was this like a giant pillow to rest my quietly lonely heart on, knowing you were out there, somewhere, wondering if I were out there, too.
Maybe in your eyes, numbers will have colors; or you'll be able to taste emotion; or each letter will have a musical note, so speech would be a symphony to your ears. Maybe you won't be anything like that all, like nothing and no one I could ever conceive. Maybe to all other eyes you'll be as normal as the rest, but you'll understand me and every color, and I'll be the same for you. Or perhaps I'll never meet you at all, in this lifetime or the next or the next. But somehow just knowing you're out there, somewhere, in some form keeps loneliness from swallowing my heart and turning it into a stony mess. As long as I can go to sleep, and dream of having you to hit the end of the universe with, I'll be alright.
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