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It never ends, does it, Sweetheart?
The first time I left Corellia, it felt pretty damn special. When I punched through the atmosphere and broke free of that planetary pull, I thought I’d done something really amazing.
And I guess it was amazing. Terrifying, sure, but exhilarating and fun. Everything I thought it would be— or could be. Didn’t think any thrill could ever top that.
But what did I know? I was young. I had a lot to learn.
I guess it’s the same for any green spacer. You knock around the solar system for a while, figure things out, grow up a little, and make some stupid mistakes along the way. You keep going, and your trajectory takes you farther and farther away from the star at your back; the sun you used to think was the center of everything.
You reach the edge of what you know and you take another leap, jumping the gap between this place and that, and it happens again—new perspective, broader knowledge, deeper understanding.
That’s how it was for me, at least.
But the real eye-opener came the day a grizzled old man and a blue-eyed farm boy showed up in a sketchy Mos Eisley cantina. That chance encounter started a chain reaction that eventually turned my whole galactic perspective upside down.
Stretched out here beside you now, propped up on one elbow in our bed, I look down at your sleeping face and try to remember the precise moment where it all began for the two of us. How did we get to this amazing place together, Sweetheart? When exactly did we take the first step that set us on this path?
I think about it for a minute, chewing on my cheek as I watch you dream, and I finally decide it must’ve started somewhere between *into the garbage chute, Flyboy* and *hey, I knew there was more to you than money*. Hard to say for sure. But what I do know is this: the launch sequence for you and me was already locked in and counting down by the time you put that medal around my neck.
You know, it’s one thing to be aware that new territory exists and to seek it out, but when you finally get a glimpse of it for yourself and grasp the vastness, it kinda hits you in the throat. Seeing the endless possibilities above and below, stretching out in all directions—it takes your breath away. You understand that there’s so much more to the galaxy than that little speck of rock somewhere behind you, which was all you knew, back when you thought you knew it all.
I remember my first trip to the Outer Rim, getting that far out from the Core and feeling so damn proud of myself, only to realise pretty quick that all the worlds I’d seen, the things I’d learned, the experiences I thought were the ultimate—they were nothin’ but practice runs. Silly games for rank amateurs. And there I was, so smug, and thinking I’d seen everything, when really I was just a slack-jawed kid without a clue. I remember staring out at that expanse, seeing stars and worlds and moons and voids, and finally realising that there’s just no end to it. It goes on and on and on—forever.
And so it goes with love, too, I guess. Ain’t that right, Princess?
Love.
Ha. Makes me laugh now, ‘cause I thought I understood that one, too. Turns out I didn’t know a damned thing, ‘til I knew you.
I lower my gaze now and let it drift down from your beautiful face to the other tiny, precious person in our bed. I watch her there, fast asleep on your chest, and I feel it again—that expansion inside, so exhilarating and strange. Fucking terrifying, too, like that first punch through the atmosphere all those years ago.
But this...this is truly fantastic.
I examine her sweet pink face, her plump cheek scrunched against the bare skin of your breast, that little swirl of dark hair on her head nearly as thick as mine. She’s only hours old, hardly even opened her eyes or made a squawk yet, but she’s everything, Sweetheart. She is the Unknown Regions, the next adventure. A universe of lessons, just waiting to be learned.
And you know what? I’m ready for it.
I think back again to the beginning of you and me, and thank the stars that our paths even crossed at all. Can’t say exactly when it was that I finally changed my heading to align with yours, but it doesn’t really matter now. We’re here. We’re together. And we’re cruising along in clear space with a whole new galaxy ahead of us—and a brand-new passenger along for the ride.
As I look down at our daughter—kriffing hells, Leia, we have a daughter!—my stomach gives a little flip. We’re about to fly blindly into uncharted territory, and we don’t even know what we don’t know. Someday, years from now, we’ll probably look back at this night and laugh at how dumb we were, how many mistakes we made, how little we understood. I mean, that’s what happens whenever you venture away from the familiar, right?
But I’ve never been afraid of exploring, and neither have you.
The End
Dedicated to our dear friend and fellow adventurer, Just-Lils.