Up on Big Mesa

Up on Big Mesa, you can see for miles and miles in all directions. You can see beautiful things, like cliffs blazing red in the evening sun. Ephemeral things, like the breeze stirring up a dust devil. Improbable things, like the great, delicate sandstone arches. Things that are too wonderful and too fragile to last. Like your love.

Up on Big Mesa, as the sunset fails, you can see the taillights of the cars headed north on 191. They are already miles away, and getting farther away every second. They are hastening to another place, vanishing into a dark emptiness. Like your love.

Up on Big Mesa, the nighttime skies are ablaze from horizon to horizon with starlight. The beautiful light comes from an incomprehensible distance, from stars that emitted it in the distant past. Some of the brilliance comes from stars that don't even exist anymore. Like your love.

Up on Big Mesa, things exist on a vast scale. The horizons are distant, the heavens are boundless, and no matter how loud you cry out, nobody will hear you. Up on Big Mesa, you are alone, insignificant, and unnecessary. Like my heart.