I know us.
I remember us.
There were times when us
Were us.
Other times, only persons,
Happening in between surrounding vacuums.

Now it is a story,
Beautiful and intricate,
It is the entropic causality
Of our common estrangement.

Water and air lightly touch,
But they are immense around themselves,
Just as we are, as our stories,
As our own liberties.

Through the air we say,
But touching can only happen
Within the boundaries
Of how far can we reach.

We reached so far,
But so little we got
That only space could touch.

The magic is to be special
Even when every fortress has fallen.