Above the Earth, where no one you know has ever been , there are enormous stretches of empty space. You cannot imagine it; it is like saying: Picture ten people, and now picture ten thousand more. It is like saying: Every time you move your hand six inches you pass through billions and billions of dimensions so tiny they curl up in invisible pockets between length, width, and height. Unthinkable: like God or death, like spending a lifetime to calculate the actual number of stars; but true,
or so we hear from certain scientists, whom we are inclined to believe, or not, it’s a question of faith so there are no answers. In this way belief is like the stars themselves, how they shine a light from great distances and die long before we notice. Take me, for example. I am so hungry for love that I left you buried by second-person singular in the first sentence, where no one would realize that it was you under there: your body, your small hands, your hair. I am so hungry for love I had to pretend I was full with my talk of numbers, and unthinkable things. Really there is no such thing as empty space, not in this Universe; and this is not about God or earth or two-dimensional loops of string that vibrate it all into being. You are not like a star-death; you are like a light that went on long before I noticed it. Forgive me; I was so busy reading my books I didn’t wonder why I could see them at all.