People seem to think that, when you get up into space, you're leaving gravity behind. It's a pretty notion, one all wrapped up in poignant symbolism worthy of Tennyson himself (or whoever your favourite poet might be - I don't really give a shhhh--- shoestring). Leaving everything that could possibly hold you back down to Earth in those few moments of gut-wrenching, blackout-inducing, rocket-boosted acceleration, blasting off into the great unknown. As the g's build up and your stomach tries its very best to emerge out the back of your spine, you feel yourself moving faster, faster, faster fasterfasterfaster - tearing you from the grip of all the lost dreams, bitter disappointments, iron-bound heart-hurts and spirit-hurts, all the lead weights sitting pretty in the depths of your soul. Just before you lose your vision (and your lunch) -poof!- out you come the other side, floating, spinning, free-wheeling among sparkling diamonds set in that immense black velvet-ness of space. You're free.
It's a pretty notion, sure enough. But any tenth grader worth his A grade in Physics can tell you - it's complete and utter bullshit. Gravity isn't that easily hoodwinked, and you sure as hell - or, well, gravity - can't run away from what's inside of you. You're still burdened, still falling - just that now you're falling around the earth, not towards it.
- Adrian
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