beam me up, scottie

i wouldn't have had it any other way. and perhaps, you wouldn't, too. therein lies our salvation, our cumulative ashes shooting up into the stars in a Gene Roddenberry moment of inspiration, going where no one had gone before, if only in a cliched lame punchline sort of way that really does neither of us any good. but then again, in my defence, what does? we rejoiced in our collective misery, and celebrated our affinity towards the wretchedness we made our live-in home. a wretchedness borne not out of despair, but of the impending doom that became the child of the inevitability of our divergent futures.