Trying to measure the distance to the edge of the universe is like observing the length of an asymptote for the first time. Initially, your soul is filled with a considerable amount of hope that for a period of time, it seems you’re just buoyant enough to ignore a nagging feeling at the back of your head that insists that you’ll never reach the end – a buoyancy that deflates as each Plank Length or Megaparsec you count wrings your soul dry from hope, until your soul, the very essence of the capacity for a vivid and radiant existence, is drained and withered. You lay lifeless. Awake but not alive. A coma, a limbo.

clouds of haze loom

Sitting on a sandbar in South Carolina.

So there at 3 AM our eyes meet,

The dog days of summer are here. you can feel

It was a miracle.

I’m not alone

It just happened.

I see you standing there

There's nothing but Grace here,

Can you believe,

The roads are paved