There will be a point long in the future where there will be no matter left whatsoever. Hundreds of thousands of millions of billions of trillions of years will have gone by before the last bit of physical existence reaches its un-being.

When that happens, it will mark the end of time having any meaning.

The theory of relativity states that you can move through time, and you can move through space, but there is a limit to how quickly you can move through either, and moving quicker through one slows down your movement through the other.

If I die before the end of time, I will have failed to love you until that point. So I have come up with a plan. I have figured out a way to love you forever.

If we can truly reach the full speed of light, then for us, time will stop. The universe will spin itself apart, into oblivion, while we careen towards that ending, hand in hand. We will reach the end of time in an instant. And I will have loved you forever.

But at the end of time, there is no beauty left for us to experience together. There will be nothing to show you. There will be nothing at all apart from us. It will have been an eternal love, but in name only. A love so full, so complete, that it is utterly empty and as meaningless as time after the end of everything.

So I think that I will take my chances and stay right here on this planet until I die of natural causes, an infinitesimal distance from here to the end of time, a time so short it may as well not have even happened.

I regret to tell you that I cannot love you forever, but instead only for an instant.

In that instant, we will know a lifetime of joy.

The derivative is the rate of increase of a function.

Pleasure is the derivative of Happiness. The more pleasure you are experiencing, over time, the happier you will become.

Happiness is the derivative of Worry. The more happiness you feel, the more you will believe you can lose, and the more you will worry about losing it all.

I have never been happier in my life.

It doesn't feel like she's gone.

I am struggling to come to terms with it, and you are coping with sleep.

You're smiling. I bet you're dreaming about a world where she's still here.

I hope you stay asleep, and in that world, for a long time.

It's far lonelier in this one.

They told me you weren't hand tamed.
But we proved them wrong.

After three days, you were fluttering to my finger
From half the room away.

Quickly though, you slowed down, and grew unsteady.
In those last moments, you looked at me, trusting me to help you.

But I couldn't. I didn't know how.

I passed you off to the doctors,
in the hopes that you could be cured.

They did what they could,
but in the end,
I only succeeded in making your last moments a mystery to me.

Were you scared? Calm? Vengeful? Understanding?
I will never know.

They brought you back in, so we could say good bye.

Your eyes stared at me, unblinking.
Gently, I reached to close them.
But each time, they sprung open once more.

Defeated, I covered you, so you could have peace.

Why did you journey so far to meet us,
o passing angel,
only to say good bye?

All too often, we will title
books that won't be wrote, just idle.

Everybody wants to call it,
when it will be nothing, stalled, it
won't have pages written steady,
won't have concepts, base or heady.

It it's read, call yourself lucky,
many writers remain stuck, see
writer's block, the crafty murd'ress
takes your drive and quick submerges.

It'll stay none, it won't take form,
just grows cold, it never stays warm.

To succeed, you have to conquer
all your fears, and don't you squander
any effort on convincing
yourself that you're no good, wincing
from the pain of dreams abandoned,
are you real, or just a stand-in?

Fear will grab you, if you're lonely.
Gentle tendrils sigh "if only",
only what? You gripped the paper?
Grabbed the pen, became the maker?

If you leave your dreams to idle,
all you'll have will be the Title.

We were on opposing coasts.

A roaring current separated us.

You were far enough away that I
couldn't see what you were doing,
Obscured by the mist as you were,
But close enough that I could see
you were doing something.

I didn't know what it was,
but then your arrow
struck me in the chest.

And so I bled.

I was first overcome with confusion,
then anger,
then sadness,
but eventually I understood.

When you were so far away,
this was the only way
you could touch me.

I would survive this,
and I would heal.

I cannot hear you,
but if you are apologizing
for hurting me,
you are forgiven.

After all, my dear...

I can shoot arrows too.