Crossing nothingness in all the wrong ways.

She stared out her bedroom window and looked up at the night sky — straining to look past the obvious stars and clouds and celestial bodies. She was more interested in the things in between, or more precisely, the nothings in between.

Distance, she thought. The universe is held together by vast, empty distances.

A truly appropriate illusion that things are placed properly somewhere, she thought; one that paralleled her current situation. There she was, twenty-one years old and truly brilliant, her status graduating, her affections affirmed, and her dreams almost set out on stone — yet, still perceived as a lost little girl who is bound to enter the wrong classroom in the first day of classes.

Distance, she thought. Endless, untraversable distance. It’s pointless to try to cross the distance, whether in its literal or metaphoric form.

She lets down her orange silk curtains and sighed. There’s just too much of nothing and it’s near impossible to truly move fast enough and leave distance all tattered in its wake, so as to supposedly make it to the destination within any reasonable amount of time.

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