How many centuries has it been, my love?

I still remember that first day, that first strange day, waking up in an impossible place. The purple grass that died and withered the moment it was touched. Seeing the shape of my sleeping form in wilted grass below me, and seeing a second empty space next to mine.

This whole world is so strange. I wonder, is it any more familiar to you? With every new land I discover, every sea I traverse, every new continent of this impossibly massive world, I discover something new: the titanic trees, formed of pulsating stone with such beautiful crystalline flowers; the delicate mushrooms, so thin their stalks would snap in the wind and their heads would float through the air like paper; the sky, so violently shifting with reds and golds and pinks. Do you know these things, have they long since become mundane to you? Or are you as fascinated and enraptured as I?

Is that why you left as I still slumbered? Were you entranced by a roaming formation of untethered stones, or by a fleeting glow upon the horizon?

Perhaps you thought there was more. More than just you and I on this great planet.

Maybe there is. Perhaps there are mighty civilisations and ceaseless dramatic wars and great stories unfolding with every new day. But none that I have seen. None that I have seen in my millennia of wandering; so much plant life, so many beautiful impossible formations, but never another mind. I think we are the only two conscious beings on this planet, my love.

I don’t even know what you look like. I have seen my own face in reflecting pools, do you look anything like I? Or are you as alien as this strange place, familiar to its impossibility?

I only know you by your markers, and it has been a while since I last found one. I remember it clearly: I had been swimming in a great river when I was caught by the current. Thrown hither and thither I fell, fell from the top of that diamond cliff and with the water tumbled for miles, crashing into the hard ground after a ceaseless falling.

And there, there was your mark. Did you fall, just as I did? Or did you find some path down the translucent mountainside?

A stone plate, with a single arrow. Your dating system is strange to me, but I deciphered it after the third or fourth mark of yours I found. This date was only a decade old, and it pointed in a single direction. Only a decade ago, you had stood in precisely the same spot I did. I traced my fingers across the rough stone, knowing your hand had once done the same. And then I left, walking out into the great unknown just as you once had, and in the very same direction.

Your method is wise, my love. As long as you rest for longer than you wander, we must one day meet. We have eternity, after all.