.I think he's creative.
We lay staring up at the sky, a deafening and comforting silence consuming us. Our hands are intertwined, his cold and small hand laying gently in my large, warm one.
It's pitch black and beautiful, light dustings of stars staring down at us.
"Do you think there could be something out in space? Like, the universe isn't real and we're just in a galaxy that's really in someone's cupboard. None of us are real, and our short lives last only a second in that large world of mystery."
I turn my head to be able to look at him, slightly surprised he spoke. His eyes are wide and dazed as he continues watching the never changing sky.
Exhaling slowly, I turn my attention back to the infinity, even if I do find him more beautiful.
I shrug, replying in a quiet yet wondrous voice. "Maybe we're all just in a box in a large classroom and all those stars are really small hands and eyes reaching and staring at us. Our night is when they're in school and observing us, and our day is when they rest and we're set in a barely lit closet."
He laughs at that, and I look over curiously. He's smiling, looking back at me with pierced dimples. "We're just plants in a box that they're all watching. Some of them are taking it seriously, trying to care for us. Some don't care, just leaving us to our own devices. And some are only trying to fuck us over."
I stay silent, unsure if this will become a long monologue on the agony of life. It doesn't.
I let out a noise to let him know I was listening and agree, continuing to stare at that pitch black void of a sky.
