I must admit: I am unwilling to give even a hint of consideration to the thought of being anything, anyone other than that brilliant, briefly lit comet, hurtling toward home.
It matters not where I land, or who takes pictures from the ground.
This is only a trip. This is just a ride. So fleeting, so fiery, that you wouldn't want to pause to wonder what you look like up there, or else you might miss the very things that make your fires unforgettable and your blast burn true.