So much has happened up to now, but the only thing that matters in the end is that I am here – here, now, with you. We are as alive as we can be, and we are as compassionate as we can be, and under the strength of this bond between us, everything else falls away. Here, now, together we rule. Time itself submits; life kneels before us, pain collapses at our feet, the wind and waves sing at our command. We can gaze at each other for as long as we want, hold each other for as long as we want, live together as long as we want. Nothing can stop us. For once, it’s not an imaginary universe, not fake news, not human arrogance, not a crippling lie. It’s a metaphor. Can’t you see?
And don’t you go trying to name it again. Really, enough of that.
Within this metaphor of ours, anything can happen. The day can break a thousand times, you can ruin the moment a thousand times, we can say good-bye a thousand times – and in the end we will still be here. Here, now, and together we rule. Metaphors are funny things.
“Metaphors are funny things,” you say. And I think to myself, so this is what it means to live.
So this is what it means to live.
Once in a while you still repeat your old plea, “Promise you will stay with me,” and I know what to say now, I know how to reply. “We are going to make it,” I tell you. The words ring in my ears, borrowed from music and memory and the lives of those before us. She repeats it hesitantly back to me, and closes her eyes.
We are going to make it, you and I.
That one isn’t a metaphor or a lie. It’s just the truth – our truth – and from this moment forward, we will carry it together, walking hand in hand on our own loving path towards eternity.