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I remember very well the first time we met and we talked about Sputniks. She was talking about Beatnik writers, and I mistook the word and said 'Sputnik.' We laughed about it, and that broke the ice. Do you know what 'Sputnik' means in Russian? 'Traveling companion.' I looked it up in a dictionary not long ago. Kind of a strange coincidence if you think about it. I wonder why the Russians gave their satellite that strange name. It's just a poor little lump of metal, spinning around the earth.
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And it came to me then. That we were wonderful traveling companions but in the end no more than lonely lumps of metal in their own separate orbits. From far off they looked like beautiful shooting stars, but in reality they're nothing more than prisons, where each of us is locked up alone, going nowhere. When the orbits of these two satellites of ours happened to cross paths, we could be together. Maybe even open our hearts to each other. But that was only for the briefest moment. In the next instant we'd be in absolute solitude. Until we burned up and became nothing.

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