The planet’s quiet now, and the heavens have grown dark. The night is king over the lands, and all there is is dust. But through the time wrought waste one buffeted pillar stands; though all else has fallen away into a plain desert, this obelisk rises over the countless years of settled sand. So here, the final moment, the end of time, draws near, and this last history remains. One thing could time not destroy, could not age, could not bury. When no majestic mountain could forever stand, this last work rose above the decay. Written in a forgotten tongue, etched into the pillar: I love you.