Unable to accept that
Celestia was no more than a haphazard cluster
of chemicals brought together by chance in
a universe out of control, I started to believe.
To give thanks for her pretty face and endearing
ways, I've started to get up early and taking
her from door to door, with a sign around
her neck that asks: Am I just chemicals? "Look
at her, " I say to the bleary-eyed householders,
"and draw your own conclusion."
Sometimes they chase us away, but usually
they just mumble, "She looks like chemicals
to me," and shut the door loudly in our
faces. |
|
