Well, My Nose Is Dripping, But Maybe It's Not The Flu At All, Maybe It's Just You, Making Me Melt.

We never made it to the planetarium that Thursday afternoon, but, the other night, when we were lying on my floor in our underwear, because it was too hot to sleep on the top bunk, you turned to me and said, "Isn't this nice?"
So I looked up at the ceiling, and I thought:
"Well, how did all of these stars get here?"
Which was quickly followed by:
"Where did the ceiling go?"
And then:
"How about the roof?"
And then:
"Jesus, how the hell can it be so hot in here if there's no roof on this building?"
And then you coughed, so I turned to you, and, wouldn't you know it, by the time I'd turned back to face what I had come to know as the open night sky, I was staring at a ceiling.
But you were right.
It was nice.

Yours,
The Professor