“My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have, but in my lack of control of them.” -Jack Kerouac
My future is the galaxy. No up or down, wrong or right, space in every direction. I turn my eyes to a specific light, like Hubble searching space clouds, zooming in. I fly towards my star. Light speed or impulse. Moslty moving. faster, slower. Meteorites and alien life stop me, new things to do, new people to learn, to be. The dreams of others like rocket ships crossing my path. So often the traffic laws must be obeyed, I have to obey the right of way. The right of your way, to your destination. But I fly, not straight ahead, but zig-zag. Stopping to pick the Andorian fire flower, or shake hands with the leader of Beta 3. I eat the crunchy tri-colored culture like a starving beast. And then I continue on. Sometimes my ship is rocking, party on the inside. Sometimes this tin can is cold and lonely, my screams pinging of the metal walls. The readout changes as the star date increases. I am getting closer the computer says as I beg for data over and over in the endless night. But that light is never as bright in my dreams. Never as close as the longing.
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