The space between stars is best described as a river, a floodplain of unemployed light, shining invisibly, waiting desperately for something to pass between them and feel the warmth they’ve been sharing all this time. That is what we are sweet one. We are how the universe feels its own heat, touches its own skin, records its own heartbreak. And when the lights go out, when the stars tire of giving, fall into themselves and begin to take and devour, when the feeling between stars is no longer even a memory recorded in long dead languages, the universe will gather itself back up like rain pooling in a basin and sleep until it feels warm again, until it is ready to go out into itself again, to spread out against its own vastness, and when the stars and stones have spread themselves out again, we, or some great sibling of ours, will take our place and record again that river of light shared between them.