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We’d crash through the glassine walls of the night.

We’d crash through the glassine walls of the night. We were like lab rats trying to embrace each other through the unseen, but not unreal, walls of our little plastic cages. We were dogs whipped by invisible fences when we got too close to the edge. We had walked through the same labyrinth and wound up through circuitous routes right next to each other, only to be separated by a single wall, too thick to broach, too thin not not hear the others’ cries from the deep.

We were all our own stars to burn out, bright for a while, but isolated in the black, we were distances so far apart from one another that we might as well be alone. And constellations were something that humans made to draw us together, of which we were unknowing. We all saw our own skies just the way we saw them, and what business people made of making sense of all of us was both for granted, secure, and horrifying. Society is nothing more than eye-pleasing (attractive; pretty) schizophrenia.