We will follow you.
We will follow you, make caravans across crowded highways toward the reenactments of our past selves, repeating descriptions, dropping business cards in booths and ordering drinks we know will make us sick. We do this because someone else will have to do. We do this because we cannot be swimming in the bioluminescent ocean of night, because we cannot be perched on the side of a continent naked under the full moon. There are too many things we cannot do and so we choose this default setting, a way to spend familiar regrets. There are too many things we will not do, because of all the things we cannot do, because we cannot tell the difference, the distance between those two types of things is too sharp to hold onto, is a darkness in which we would lose ourselves. It is the limbo we cannot tolerate, the ignorance of the bigger picture, our awareness of our own Flatland perception. We watch for each other, try to make decisions for everyone else, try to encourage others to do whatever it is we will not do. But we want to be the intrepid explorer, discoverer of new continents and seas, hipster progressive at the forefront of the trend toward melting ice caps, the song we will hear before anyone else, that we will hate before it hits their ears, while we are humming the next bar of an up and coming landmass or a brand new satellite, built from scratch somewhere in the sky.