Who are we really asking the questions of each other, to throw sound into strings of meaning, codes of emotions stripped only to curves and lines on a screen, regressing to a cuneiform in which nobody has scratched any meaning yet. Can hieroglyphs express empathy, sympathy, or pun? Who are we really expecting answers from when we ask each other the simplest of questions, from "How are you?" (negligible affect) to "What do you think?" (potential devastation).
My world does revolve around me.
And your world revolves around you.
To consider a "sphere of influence" it might be best to imagine it where "influence" is equal to "gravitational force" -- but doesn't that then contradict itself, the oxymoron: if it is gravitational in the first place then we have no power, we must give ourselves up, we aren't under any force because we are subjected to only what we cannot control already, gravity. A pulling. A downwards. And in space: a lacking.
"Is it too much to ask?" How does rhetorically speaking act when we want to play seriously? If serious, do we lose the definition of play, an alchemy of linguistics from lighthearted noun to grave adjective? Spheres change shape, trajectories move off-path, entropy replaces prediction. When the comet falls across the sky it is not posing the chance for you to make your wish, it is an afterimage winking with laughter because the punchline is you. Light from the sun takes only 8 minutes to touch Earth but our next-closest star takes over 4 years to contact us. Maybe when the comet fell it shone on you right when you were in need of a light from a higher vacuum than your present, but it will take you half a decade just to know that it chose you. What is the speed at which celestial dust may grace us with timelessness, or will gravity always intercept the dreams that take years to realize at all? Is a thought born of a glitch in chaos or is my thinking along the same lines as latitude and longitude in a void with no measurement, which is to ask, am I part of the program or am I the programmer?
Who asks the questions and who is responsible to answer when two parties fault each other as star-crossed trajectories: one falls and it will take years for the other to notice, at which point the first no longer exists.