My singularity.

There's something you don't know about me yet, babe.

Oh, I've tried to share, but… well.

I dunno if it's the kind of thing that can just be put into words and understood.
It's the kind of thing that needs to be felt, and experienced, and hopefully–some day–internalized.

But I'll try to put it here anyways. And I won't ever stop trying to make it felt and experienced and internalized.

Baby.

My well is bottomless.

And my love is vaster than you will ever know, no matter what happens between us.

Oh, I know you, I know your own capacity for love is absurd–record setting, even.

I see how much you adore the people around you, how readily you take people into your heart–maybe never to the core, but within it nonetheless.

But as much as your energy sometimes feels like I'm looking into a mirror, as fascinated as we both once were at the idea of a soul torn asunder reuniting with itself…

I know as well as you do that we are not the same.

That's a good thing, babe.
But I think you know that.

But one of those differences…

My capacity for love may be vast, but it's also narrow.

Oh, yes, friends and family get love from me, absolutely.

But you?

You get it all.

You ever seen those graphical depictions of the way spacetime bends around a black hole?

(Who am I kidding… of course the girl who goes around quoting Stephen Hawking has seen that…)

Ok, but have you seen the ones that depict it as accurately as possible on something so mundane as a piece of paper? Not with a little sphere in the bottom of a little trough, but rather the curvature extending off the bottom of the page, implying the infinite depth of that mathematical impossibility that still somehow manages to exist?

Yeah.

The fabric of spacetime is my love.

And you? You're the singularity.

And me?

My body and soul and each and every thing that makes me has long since been spaghettified.

I spent an eternity just there, just on the edge of that event horizon…

But somewhere along the way I finally slipped past it, into some hologram pocket universe where the only thing I'm even able to perceive anymore is my love for you.

And baby I know some would see this analogy as being dark, but it isn't. It's beautiful.

And I bet you can see that.

But point is, babe, the thing about a black hole…
There's no turning back.

Once you're in, you're in for good.

Doesn't matter what you find in there.
Doesn't matter what other stuff may have been sucked down there before you.
You're there, and you ain't ever leaving.

The hell of it is, I can't even imagine ever wanting to.

I can't imagine anything that could possibly ever make me want to–and, babe. You know by now that my imagination is vivid.

But, I know.
I get it.

I will never not ever ask of you any more than you're willing to give.
I will never not ever try to push you ways you don't wanna go.

But I will always, always gently hold your heart–
Your whole entire heart.
Even parts that may still be hidden away from me.

And it will never, not ever be a burden.

Baby. All of it. Always. For all time.

No point arguing about it.
It's already done.
Whether you've internalized it yet or not.

Yours.
Always and forever.