Millions, no trillions of glittering lights, flicking on then off. I blink, trying to synchronise myself to the pulse of the universe. Not quite.
I inhale deeply, my chest rising to maximum capacity, close my eyes then……wait. I imagine time passing both around and through me. The eye of the storm, the centre of a maelstrom, the very centre of the web that is the multiverse. An Angel before God; a baby before it’s mother. Not quite.
I climb to the top of the hill that overlooks my town. This has to be the thing to do. I climb closer, nearer, almost there. The summit dances toward me and I reach out. Not quite.
I stand upon the highest point for miles around, feeling like a king. The orange, luminescent glow of a myriad streetlights reflect the ocean of sparkling night above. I am betwixt and between. Not quite.
Standing before the precipice, the cooling updraft of a mistral breeze wafting over me, I reach into my jacket pocket. It is no trinket, no heirloom, no moment of truth that I peel from my pocket but a picture of you, my love. Now, and only now, do I sense it to be right. I look at the eyes that spawned my love staring up at me from in-between clammy fingers. I drink in all that is, was and will be, us: And jump.
I am almost with you, almost but…… Not quite.