the saint of big and bright.

we went for a ride outside the city limits, wind in our hair and tunes lifting and everything else required of a starry starry night.

and you asked me, shouting over the music, "how many are there?"

"that are truly there? we'll never know; by the time the light reaches us, they could be dead."

"a lot of things resemble that."

"it's true."

and we were quiet, letting the road pass under us.