tell everyone that its laser swords are just giant glow-sticks. tell the valet to take it for a spin. tell myself that spacesuits are hip club attire. what’s more sci-fi than a gundam is that, somehow, all the friends i’ve ever had are here. we order drinks mixed into nebulas. get zero-grav wasted. slur silly questions. why do they make all the giant robots look human? my best guess: for the hands. with giant robot hands, you can touch so many things. planet rings. moon craters. space debris to origami into cute animals. i hug my favourite ex. you know, it gets lonely spending every day in the cockpit. i lean in for a selfie with all my friends. we fill the phone screen like a star chart. we say text me. joke about texting in a light-year. light-year is a measure of distance, not time. we laugh about that. cry later. there should be a latin name for the constellation we make with each other, named for our presence at the point of each departure. the hymn that resides in our silence. we hear the gundam land outside. the valet runs in. holy fuck i could see so many stars. we smile. bring them in for a group hug. us too.