Galaxy transplanted

From a Galaxy hundreds of thousands of light-years above the ecliptic of our very own Milky Way. I stare out at the firmament.

This galaxy is old. There is very little stray dust, gas, or asteroids to block any view. From here the Milky Way is represented beautifully in all its splendor. Which one of those spiral arms holds the only things that I know? How significant they think they are. And yet how insignificant they truly are.

From here the light that reaches my eyes is not the light that shines for them. For this light that I see is hundreds of thousands of years before they ever existed. From this cluster Galaxy I predate any sorrow felt on one of those spiral arms so far away. I will not be here when the blackness infected in one of those spiral arms reaches out to this cluster Galaxy.

Time is funny that way. From here. I stand ancient ancestor to myself. If I look long enough, dream hard enough, I can see them spin, those spiral arms. Like a child's toy, so innocent. Where heart and the lack of compassion kept me locked out. Now time and distance stand sentinel to my defense.

What I was molded for, doesn't exist here yet. So I must turn from that pinwheel placeholder in my new night sky. It is the Milky Way spiral galaxy. And I am now lactose intolerant.