We laugh at people falling from the sky because their landing is so soft. But our own falls are cushioned by solid oak coffee tables, cement sidewalks, and, yes, even the occasional glass ceilings.
You look at me with sad eyes, I know. And those funny lips of yours can't hide a thing.
We're in the same place; I dream of police and thieves. They are all so confident.
We're in the same place, alone; Their guns and ammunition never used, not once. They were so confident.
(Hold the cord above your head, sometimes that helps the light to work because there's a short.)
It's just a natural phenomenon. Objects with mass attract one another.
And I guess that's how my cosmos came crashing down.