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Standing on the edge of the world. Standing on the edge of what we know. Looking out, we only hear the gentle wind and our breath. This giant open space: the mountains, the rivers, the plants. This world of ours, this beautiful world, I cannot bear to think of it fading. The melody of nature could turn into a murmur, we would ask ourselves how did we lose what was once all around?

In this world of dying beauty, he is the remaining light in a place so corrupt. He is the one piece of this puzzle that always fits. If this world became tired, I would bury myself in his arms and tell him that he is what it is to feel alive. He is what it is to feel infinite.