We’ve been walking and walking, but the journey we’re taking seems infinite, so much that an opaque black spills over our figures and to the ground. To our right, the fireflies seem to be celebrating. Hundreds flash on a continuous rhythm all through the field and I wonder aloud, “Are they onto something we’re not?” You respond, “I wish I could think like you; innocent, clear.” Looking high above my head, I notice how your cheeks are stained with sunburn and your skin smells like mine. I know that we’re nothing special, but you’ve made normalcy feel so divine. Your idleness causes us to venture left and we grow lost in a maze of streets while the darkness becomes more concrete. Your bare feet circumnavigate the pavement until they come across something distinctive: A picnic table that seems to lead to the sky. The closer we hike to it, the brighter the stars seem. Soon enough, they encompass my vision while you flutter towards my skin, pulling me atop the table. A new layer of darkness has emerged but there’s nothing wrong with that because we’ve disappeared from the world and created our own.