Right now in the Arctic Circle, it is twilight. The sun has hidden from the vast fields of snow, and it will not return for months and months. Not for all the love in the world. No kiss can conjure it. No hug can replace its warmth. No secret whisper or extended hand or careful laugh can reverse the orbit or adjust the tilt of a rock hurling through space at sixty-seven thousand miles per hour.

I am frozen, my love. I can no longer see the light. The months stretch out like an abyss before me; a semester's worth of sorrow. You cannot save me, no matter how sweetly you try or how desperately I want you to succeed.

We cannot fight the sun, my love. So let me go.