And she said, “Journey,” like she’s on some kind of a reasoned itinerary.
“This is my journey.”
“How’s your journey?”
And the man couldn’t help but pilfer it.
“Your journey couldn’t be less significant.”
She teared up.
“My journey brought me to you,” she said.
“I couldn’t be less significant,” he said.

He continued . . “Someone temporarily lucid once said, ‘A leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.'”
“That’s where your significance fits.”
She smiled in relief.