The plane is racing toward the sunset. The sun glows orange and tiny and impossibly bright, like a singularity. It’s a speck of intense energy that hurts to look at, but who am I to look away? Who am I to pretend I can resist the pull of such power? Who am I to shield my eyes from the closest thing to divinity that I am able to see? We pick up speed, like we’re chasing the sun— like we’re chasing God. I think, in a way, we always are. I’d be lying if I said I’ve seen anything like it. I’d be lying if I said I held onto my breath after seeing it.