My children have turned the void into their plaything. Galaxies bloom with greenery, long coils of gene teased foliage link star systems. Comet shepherds and their wards streak through the bluish haze of atmosphere to nourish with life giving water. Ships from gossamer corollas upon which alien sociology is practised.
The conceits of an earthbound genetic heritage have fallen away to be replaced by the vagaries of whim and function. The ambassador tasked with accompanying this relic of human history resembles an iridescent cephalopoda. He winks at me wisely. Everywhere there is light. And movement, like a seascape. It makes me dizzy and I have to sit down and breathe into my new vacuum adapted lungs.
A loneliness consumes me of a magnitude I have never experienced. A vast epoch stretches behind me, and oblivion recedes eternally towards the horizon where I beseech with an outstretched hand grasping nothing. The cuttlefish ambassador senses my despair and agitates his tentacles.