I spoke to him for four and a half hours last night.

And for a good two of those hours, I was overcome by the fact that I suddenly knew the reason for everything.

He was, too. He told me so. Over and over, we exchanged these words of recognition, failing only to admit what we felt simply. I told him, "My hands are shaking."

He told me, "This is perfection."

Every word was loaded with the meaning of the universe.

We could only come to one conclusion: this is the point. This is the point of it all. This is why.

More importantly, this is what is.

If that is what I think it is, I'm terrified.