Everyone is out there building their beautiful lives, spinning families and ambition from threads pulled somewhere down the line. A child then three. One condo then another until you are a landlord. Maybe in a few generations you will have wealth, maybe it’s the next if you play your cards right. Spoiler: on the space-yacht someone made it, and they’ll have forgotten your name, know nothing about your values or beliefs and certainly none of your insecurities. There are no more traces of cotton and the sun is an outline. When they come up on the shimmering wormhole looking for somewhere new to place the altar, wonder is the same idea as sustenance. The word for it doesn’t exist to you but you fold your sheets and go to work and tell fairy tales to your kids.