Farther from the sun, a father and son. The soft moon chasing after, the sun running away; a lunacy of circles that separates the darkest of space. Stars hanging like a collage of reflecting mirrors, pieces that once radiated beauty. If by chance, the moon changes to blood and the sky spills its red, the willing time, will tell in time, if when all is too late.

The distance of a voice, is only a short time away from touch.

Distance can make a love fade, while closeness can make hate flare; as distance can make hate fade, while closeness can make love flare.

Yesterday, with you, is as close as today. But tomorrows without you, will always be far away.

A million miles from nowhere, is better than going nowhere, a million times.