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Can you see it? Can you see the edge of the universe? I can, as I stand alone on top of the world with eternity before me. Up here, above time, there is no past, no future, just now. The bitter wind chases the strands of hair that dangle, frozen, about my face. My eyes dissect the angelic image before me. The morning sun climbs the ladder of night., ascending to its throne among the fading stars. Its robes of blues and pinks, blacks and reds, embrace the dark emptiness of the sky. A gentle wave of mist caresses the snow covered mountain spears the pierce the endless emptiness. The perfection is so strong that, for a moment, my soul cannot bear it. Slowly desolation envelops me: it is not perfect. As I watch, the mountain peaks become desperate fingers, stretching, ever reaching, for the sun, as if the apathetic flame were the only thing that could free them from the mist's suffocating grasp. The glorious sun, in all its radiance, becomes a dictator, forcing the benevolent stars from their homes in the heavens. The wind becomes fierce, pushing me, battering me this way and that while nipping at my flesh. My soul screams out in indignation. And there you are in my mind, grinning your crooked smirk. The wind whispers to me in your voice, taunting me. "You see," It seems to say, "You do love me." And I know it is true. When the only thing that could make the scene before me truly perfect, is if you were here with me.