It is the moment before I sleep.

Consciousness is budding deep in my reptilian brain--I want you, it says.

You are not far away in the grand scheme of things.

According to the size of the universe, we may as well be the same person. We are that close.

I do not watch for the pleasure of watching. I do not want for the agony of wanting.

It is the moment before I sleep when I think of you.

And imagine.

In the grand scheme of the universe, if things were different--

You do not deal in ifs. You deal in numbers.

But ifs are all I have, so numbers be damned.

I watch for the necessity of seeing you work. Of attaching all your greatness to my meagre inspiration.

I want against my will.

Gravity, the conscience of the universe, pulls my eyes closed, drags my hands to my sides. Against my will.

I have reached for you again, and found nothing.

We work against the grand scheme, and fight against the moment before sleep. I fight to watch and want, you fight because it is you to fight.

I have reached up to the universe in supplication, begging for the ifs. I have asked for you to be made well, and for my weakness to fade away. Against my will--I have no will.

My reptilian brain resists.

I have reached, in the moment before I sleep, to grasp the kite from the sky and hold it close. Your bright colours dimmed by storm clouds.

But the universe laughs. It is a kite--foolish man--kites cannot be held and kept from the grand scheme.

Darkness drifts down. My pleading goes unheard.

We work and fight and--

Nothing. The universe is deaf to us.

The grand scheme rolls on.

We are so close, we could be the same person, according to the size of the universe.

I work and fight over there, and you work and fight in that round room down there and nobody else matters. We are that close.

So my reptilian brain tells me in the moment before I sleep.

Then I am aware of nothing but the empty never-filled space above. And you drift on in the sky, tethered by spider's web, controlled by numbers.