To you (whoever that may be),

The limit as x goes to infinity of something. It doesn't matter what function it is. It doesn't matter if you know what that it. It doesn't matter. All it does is find a horizontal asymptote of a function. It doesn't matter if you know what that means either. Some functions, as x goes to infinity, will settle upon a number, growing closer to this expected value for the rest of the function's existence.

Why does that matter? Why am I telling you this?

I wonder what will happen as I go to infinity.

Will I reach the ripe old average lifespan of an American? Will surpass it and grow aged and ill-tempered, seeing generations flair into existence, create new generations, and snuff into oblivion? Will I die before I get there, remembered by surviving friends and family members or forgotten in a passing glance? Will someone, searching through my personal belongings, find the hastily written letter from sixth grade, ink smeared from splattering tear stains and edges crumpled from a shaky grip? Will they analyze my life for "warning signs"? Will they pick apart the pieces of who I was or will be to idolize the good, to objectify the bad? Or will a stranger's shrug be at my passing, propelling my human memory into the abyss of what once was concrete and what now is conditional?

What will happen along the way?

Will I fulfill my half-sung promise? Will I truly leave this town, county, state, nation, never to return? Or will I find rest in the constant stand-still of inaction and "what if"s? Will I become a polyglot, able to correspond with people from all walks of life, or will I forget the language I struggle to grasp, and, by the end, forget the tongue spoken to me while I was held to my mother's breast?

What of you? As I go to infinity, what will you be?

Maybe you're a passing glance on the sidewalk, a glare, grimace, smile, frown, that will be burned into my existence. Maybe, you will be my forever, but not to infinity. Will you be my lover for a night? A day? A year? A month? Will you fall to your knees and seal an infinity, only to leave in legal struggle after you truly realize who I am? Will you spend the rest of your infinity with me, while we blossom and shrivel into dried dates, sweet and content to watch the world pass by? Will we birth into existence new infinities, have finite beliefs but infinite futures and raise them into what we hope they'll be but always in wonder, never truly disappointed? Will you give me your jacket when I'm cold? Will you comfort me when ras-le-bol of life overwhelms? Will you confide in me when you have troubles? Will I be your light even though all I see in myself is darkness? Or, are you just any point that I kiss on the travel droit a l'oubli? Will I be tangent to you for a blurry second, where, like cars racing side-by-side, I'll glance out the fogged window to see your face?

But, for that one moment, our infinities will be the same.

However the red string ties our fingers through time, we will one day meet. The extent to which we know each other is up to possibility.

What would it look like to go to infinity?

Signed,

Mac's hands twitched in helpless spasm. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his breathing, to distract himself from what awaited him.

To forget the restraints on his wrists.

A woman in a long, white lab coat was watching his every move, registering every reaction on his face with almost a scientific curiosity.

She leisurely approached the medical chair, a one-sided smile on her lips. "Mr MacGyver, it's a pleasure to have you here, even if you don't reciprocate the feeling", she winked at him. Dark eyes squinted behind the glasses as she leaned closer. "The drug should start working pretty soon."

Her fingers brushed the hair from his forehead, stopping abruptly when he turned his head away. "You know the drill, don't you? You've done it before. Start counting."

Mac closed his eyes. The distorted, dreamlike memories were beginning to resurface, filling his mind with dread.

"What kind of man loves like this?"

Exhausted and dizzy, he couldn't help but open his eyes. "Wha--"

She was again leaning over his face. "To willingly surrender yourself to go back to your darkest hour, to relive it to find the clue to the riddle. To help us save your partner's live. You truly are an exceptionall man, Angus MacGyver."

My heart calls your name

And I write you another letter.

I hope I get better,

I hope you get to love me

In the way we have

Waited for.

I am not sore,

I am just tired,

But we are moving, at least,

I have fallen in love with the night. Its blurry eyed lucidity distorts the light flashing through the windows from passing cars and softens the dramatic contrast of the artificial lights in the distance. It also brings the fatigue that makes precise movements awkward, muscles floundering for the right pull, as if also controlled by the moon's gravity. There is a warmth in the exhaustion, its gentle hands grasped upon the edge of consciousness, tugging ever so gently. Relax into the dark.

I will stumble into the night, air chilled by the absence of the sun and more intimate than any lover pressing against me. The air will rush into my lungs, diffuse into my capillaries, spread into the smallest pieces of who I am. My muscles will contract in the attempt to create heat and my breath, one of the few things in which I find solace, will freeze into cloud-like crystals before mingling and disappearing into the black oblivion. I will stare at the sky, peppered with the stars, small in perception and enormous in reality, that rearrange into thousands of mental images. And I will see you.

Because, this night that I am in love with has stronger effects than any depressant, any hallucinogen. My heart will slow, almost in a dream, and the stars will connect to create the images of the things so undeniably you yet so extraordinarily mundane. I will lie in the dark, enveloped by the many blankets on my bed, and I will tentatively reach towards the ceiling. The night will darken into shadows and silhouettes, forming the visage that you so stubbornly and unintentionally imprinted into my memory, and, for that one moment, you will be closer than you ever were. I will trace the curve of your jaw with the tips of my fingers, and I will smile before falling limp into sleep's embrace where you will become more than an insistent daydream.

I have fallen in love with the night, for it brings you back to me...

Signed,

Life is the perception of a thousand different variables. The colors I see are the reflections of waves, like practiced calligraphy. Sounds too are vibrations, almost felt at a finger's touch. Taste, smell, touch. All of it. It's all perception. I will never feel the elation, the melancholy, the pain you feel. You will never have the same impulses in your brain as I do.

I ask myself if any of it is truly real anymore. My back pressed against the tree outside my window, nails digging into the bark, sun behind my eyelids. A breath in. A breath out. Bare feet on the new cut grass, withered or lush depending on the time of year. I could see the veins, illuminated by the high sun, of the leaves, as if through tracing paper, there's my veins too. Blue and green, the color is distorted by the layers of my skin. The thrum of my heart in my chest, always on time, always reliable. Except for those few moments, heart in throat, tight horror, can't breathe, heart skips.

I don't know if you're real anymore. You have become so warped by my mind's eye, only a vague outline the same. What color are your eyes? I can't remember, green becomes blue becomes hazel becomes brown becomes amber. Hair is the same, soft between my fingers, coarse under my touch. Are you loving? In my mind you are. Were you cold? You left with summer in all sorts of ways. Were we amicable? Small smiles swapped in conversation. Living events, between relaxed persons. Details left out. Feelings reordered. Make it nicer to hear. Were we viscous? Opinions held back for the sake of feelings. Led to ruin by wrong information, a lack of information. Were we real? Possibilities caused by endless reworking, how things could have been done, how the should've acted, who you should be.

I'm perceiving you through two eyes, and I can't tell which one is lying.

Signed,

Dear Mary,

Hi. I ran into a wall today. I know, I know. Take a moment to laugh at me. It hurts really bad though. The nurse told me to go check up with her before lunch, but I didn't. I really should've, but you know, I didn't.

My friend, Hannah, is letting me borrow her Dear Evan Hansen book it's all Dear Evan Hansen Through a Window, and you should read it if you haven't already by the time you read this.

I don't really like the gym teacher. He joked about cussing and wanting to beat people, and all the other kids seem to laugh, but I don't want to laugh. I don't find him very funny. Did you find him funny?

Well that's all I'm going to write about for now!

Love ya,

As I sit here in my tub drowning in my thoughts, all I can focus on is what a fool I was, to believe my brain. A brain I know to be sick and full of lies. I believed it instead of you. You who only ever tried to show you me you loved me, in ways I couldn’t see sometimes, but you did. Looking back now or just looking around my house shows me your acts of love. I was a fool.