“You’ll never mean as much to me as the moon. I’ll always be comparing you with the stars and I don’t know if your complexity will match up. Consider that the universe expands or contracts as it does and there’s no way we can ever know what lies beyond it. But you, me, our story, it’s an old one. We know what lies beyond our story. Our eventual demise.”

“How can you say that the universe doesn’t compare to that? In time, won’t the universe die as well? Doesn’t a universe die every time you swallow? A million tiny creatures, bacteria, whatever, entire worlds are decimated every time we breath, swallow, walk around. Why can’t you find our story as magical as the stories around us? What is so commonplace about who we are and what we do that you’ll dismiss it so easily?”

“It’s us.”

“All the more reason.”

“Doesn’t that seem kind of self-important?”

“Is there any other way?”