He carried the sorrow hideous and odious, heavy and jagged through the depths of space, towards the edge of the universe. There he would discard it because he knew that as long as they occupied the same universe, the sorrow would gravitate back to him, or more accurately, they would gravitate towards one another, drawn together by the invisible, fundamental forces governing the matter composing each of them.

He had already tried less drastic forms of separation before, abandoning the sorrow somewhere and fleeing, only to find that contact with sorrow could not be overcome with distance alone; given time, distance—no matter how great—would be overcome and was merely a means of weakening the mutual attraction, never destroying it.

After covering a great distance he no longer cared to fathom, aching to expel his terrible burden from this world, he at last reached what he expected to be the edge of universe. And there, he found no edge at all, arriving at not a boundary but simply another part of a continuum, discovering our universe to be a closed one, space folding back on and into itself. There was no other place into which to cast the sorrow, at least no place he was capable of reaching. It was then he realized the very nature of the universe had bound them together, forever in a strange, terrible way. Always to be drawn to the other, to be linked.

So he returned home and molded the sorrow with the basic forces of his heart, hands and mind to give it a form he could bear, and imbue it with what light and love it could contain.