I think entire constellations form their shape off of where our fingertips meet before enveloping into two hands holding.
Those tiny clusters of light, all shaking, sparing, and painted in the atmosphere with notions of disbelief.
The cosmic dust between us became anonymous, well adjusted, and finely hidden. It became a leisure waltz. It became lightning speed.
But silent nebulas couldn't be included in our list of reconcilable differences.
Try to remember how microscopic the amount of space left between us and the sheets truly was.
Or what it was like as we drifted in and out of consciousness, our self-awareness rising with the sun, but aligning with the moon.