Long ago our home used to be known as the Rock
An orb of massive potential rolling through space,
One enormous island of substantiation, predestined for greatness,
On a course through the universe, prescribed by an arc that stretched from nothing to infinity.
It picked up life along the way,
And moss.
And then came to rest in a vast vast grove of celestial euonymus.
Where we stepped off as a species, and wandered further and further away.
We grew larger and larger in our own eyes
So large, we lost all perspective.
And the Rock became smaller and smaller
And lost all significance.
And yet, occasionally we still feel its gravitational pull on us.
We call it yearning.
