Do you remember when I told you about being young and spending entire weekends - entire summers - at the science center in my city? I'd spend hours in the planetarium and then I'd run my fingers through the discarded corpses of gravity's fury (dominoes that hadn't been stood up or fallen either).
Well, I don't know why, but today I wondered how much I'd weigh on Jupiter and if Mercury still waves to my "home" town every night through cheap binoculars. But then, after a while I began wondering if I ever really thanked all the friends I made for the private star shows or the impromptu lessons about sun spots and telescopes.
If you and I can keep orbit long enough, I'll take you back there someday and together we'll see if the magic's still there when life has already coxed us into growing up and learning how to forget the importance of science instead of the value of math or English.
When I was young, I spent far too much time in the science center making friends with information and falling in love with the people who took their time to teach me anything I wanted to know about space or gravity or anything else the world had to offer through experimentation and far too much time spent questioning before the day I came along to wonder the same thing.
And I don't believe I ever had the chance to thank everyone who inspired me to take my love of poetry and mix it with all the nuggets of knowledge, beauty, and truth that they armed me with before I knew art and education would become enemies on the same side of a crooked ass war.
But I hope that if we can stay in orbit together long enough, that you and I can go back there, to that science center in a town I hated for far too many reasons and that you and I can share these works mused from all that time I spent in a building that became more home than my own house of twelve years, and together we will make that center so fucking proud that even the walls learn how to cry.
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