of Doomsday Book, part of Phoenix Flower - eschatological
I doubt I can but Rich coaxes me out of the bower, up into the air. We fly to the Moon. Landing, I hold my breath, knowing it’s airless. My breath is lasting longer than possible, and Rich, who doesn’t seem to be holding his, is looking curiously at me. Holding it in isn’t comfortable and while I may be able to hold it indefinitely, if I can…? I might as well get it over with. I breathe. I can breathe! There’s air on the Moon. There’s no air on the Moon but I can breathe. I’m not breathing.
We sit down to watch the show. There’s a little eruption here, another there and pretty soon a total explosion without a sound and nothing there where the Earth was. There’s no point continuing to look, and since the most interesting thing about the Moon was its view of the Earth we don’t dally but take off to explore the universe, none of which detains us for long. We do find a planet very like the Earth and Rich leaves me there for a time. It’s interesting until its interest is exhausted. What’s the point of air when I don’t need to breathe? of food when I don’t eat? It’s not I need Rich, except to be…? It isn’t that he’s interesting, though he is, or that I’m interested when he’s with me, though I am…. I don’t know what it is but I’m about to leave the planet like home was but which isn’t my home to look for him when he comes back to me. It’s talking with him interests me. I can do without the universe so long as he’s with me, and without the universe he can’t leave me at all; there’s nowhere else for him to be except where I am also. No light. No thing. He is enough with me; I, however much the most important, even more important than all the rest, am not enough for him.