I envy Buzz Aldrin
I am on Jupiter.
And the immense gravity of the gas giant is grabbing at my ankles and sucking in my gut and crushing me like an empty can of soda in the hand of a careless strongman.
I am vaporized.
I am a subatomic particle in the eddying storm that's been red and raging for centuries, and I should be proud to be part of such a great cosmic tradition, but I am bored of the endless circling and forming and falling apart. To be frank, it's nauseating.
I aspire to the moon. To jump as far as I can and not land again for minutes. To look on the Earth, a beautiful concept in the distance, and see all of the lovely clarity and none of the people who spoil it. To leave footprints that will outlast all the plastic in all the landfills and all the legacies of all the Great Men of History.
But I know I'm fit for Pluto. I am cold. I am unsure of who I am. I am sometimes lonely, but I'm used to it.
Maybe a satellite will visit me every century or so. I'd like that.