As kids we were told, that the stars we see at night, might already be long dead. They're simply so far away that the light they gave out a long time ago is still traveling towards us.
In similar fashion, a wad of spit on the 18th of January took almost a month to reach its target. Stop spitting on me, it cries, leave me alone. You've had peace, no? I've not said anything to you since. The slow speed of your comprehension ability is none of my business, there is nothing I can do, so quit whining.
Oh. Is this going to torment you for another month?
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