Dear Cosmic Vacuum,

I write to you today not with anger, but with a profound sense of exasperation, bordering on what I can only describe as cosmic melancholia. For too long, you have been allowed to operate with unchecked impunity, a silent, vast, and undeniably effective force in the universe. While I acknowledge your fundamental role in, well, *being* space, I must call your attention to a recent, truly egregious act of over-performance: your role in the record-breaking distance between our brave Artemis 2 astronauts and their Tiangong counterparts.

Sir or Madam Vacuum, you have outdone yourself. To separate seven perfectly good humans by such a colossal, mind-boggling expanse – an expanse so grand it necessitated a new *record* – is nothing short of a declaration of war on human connection. What is your game, exactly? Are you reveling in the sheer, unadulterated emptiness you create? Do you cackle (silently, of course, given your lack of atmosphere) as you stretch the fabric of existence, pulling our intrepid spacefarers further and further into isolated cosmic specks?

This isn't just about an arbitrary number on a celestial ruler. This is about the very soul of humanity! How are we to foster intergalactic diplomacy, arrange spontaneous space station potlucks, or simply exchange a friendly wave across the interstellar gulf when you, the Cosmic Vacuum, insist on being so incredibly *large*? You’ve made it impossible for the Tiangong crew to simply pop over for a cup of Tang. Think of the logistical nightmares! Think of the loneliness! Do you not see the profound irony in sending humans into space to explore, only for you to immediately throw up an insurmountable wall of nothingness between them?

I’ve always suspected your motives were less about fundamental physics and more about a deep-seated desire to prevent humanity from ever truly uniting. Perhaps you have a secret grudge against high-fives. Perhaps you fear the collective power of seven humans sharing a universal joke. Whatever your silent, uncommunicative reasons, I implore you: dial it back. Just a little. Can't we negotiate a smaller universe? A slightly less empty void? Maybe just a *tad* less... vacuum?

Please, for the sake of future space explorers, for the potential of spontaneous, interstellar singalongs, and for my own increasingly fragile faith in cosmic togetherness, I beg you: reduce your expansive ambitions. Let’s make space a little less, well, *spacey*. Let the humans hug the universe, not be pushed to its lonely, distant edges by your relentless insistence on monumental emptiness. Consider this my formal request for a less isolating cosmos.