The mist rises as we go down. The roads are empty, and the clocks have stopped because time has no meaning. We were watching 28 Days Later, but she fell asleep not long after the scene where they’re on the stairwell of the tower block. Y’know, she offered him a can of Lilt, but he wanted Tango? Being careful not to wake her, I drink my wine and lose myself in thoughts yet never unseeing of her beauty as she sleeps like a cat all curled up under my left arm. Sometimes I just stare at her not thinking. She captivates me, yet I am not her owner for she is her own ball of energy. I am not her keeper, either, and yet it’s my job to keep her safe whenever harm comes calling. As the TV colours us with images and I stroke the flesh of her arm, it gives me strength knowing this slice of life has been made possible. Through the infinite branches of all the infinite decisions that have ever been made, that the two of us are in this bubble is indeed a miracle, and yet the melancholy in my bones keeps me low to the ground. Don’t get me wrong, to move through time with her is a gift, and yet the finality of our end just won’t shift. Most would say I’m a pessimist, and they’d be right, but can you blame me? This place we inhabit. The people that inhabit it. None of it can be trusted. Despite a world of billions, we are alone and always shall be. Playing with the curls of her hair, I finish my wine and switch off the TV just before the end credits roll. In the black space we now inhabit, I hold her tight as we drift someplace else.