125,000,000.
A milestone.
She should be happy.
Were it not a fantasy.
The truth is more: T minus 55.
Just like it should have always been.
Before that smile. (Her weakness)
Letting brightness dull the edges of her mind.
T minus 45: We need to talk.
T minus 41: This isn't working.
T minus 32: It's not about space.
T minus 23: You know I hate to see you cry.
T minus 12: How could you think that?
T minus 10: Oh, Chloe, of course, l l-...'ve let you down (every time).
T minus 8: Three words, Bree. Not that hard.
The irony churns just as much as bile.
100,000,000 aching seconds.
1.
2.
3.
One day they'll climb too high to choke them down.
T minus zero.
You say them here.
Every day.
Her fingertips are sunlight. Where it counts.
That's all I need.
For now.
Just you.
Does she believe it?
125,000,059.