I have lived and died, loved and hated and grieved. I have watched stars burn and planets die, and great civilisations warring against each other. I have witnessed births and deaths, and in all that time, do you know what I feel the most acutely?

Life is long, and your moments are wasted. A medium-sized star lives for around ten billion human years. Smaller ones can live up to a hundred billion. 100,000,000,000. Eleven zeroes. That's two trillion, four hundred billion hours. A hundred forty-four trillion minutes. Eight quadrillion, six hundred forty trillion seconds. That's the length of my life, from birth to death. They linked my life force to that of a tiny star, and as it begins fizzling out, so do I.

I have lived and died and loved and grieved. I have lost and found and created and destroyed. I have killed and saved more than you puny human minds can count, and I am absolutely sane.

I remember every single one of your names. I remember Alice and Charlie. Laura and Emily. Clarence and Melody. Ethan and Alexander. I remember all of your names, though you have long ago been buried. James died in the vacuum of space, swelled up like one of those marshmallows. Grace tried skydiving; her parachute ripped. Aron simply died of extremely old age. Anna had a heart attack.

I no longer grieve for them. When you want to live as long as I do and don't go mad from it all, the only possible solution would be to desensitise yourself. Let every wound rip through your heart and let it close. Don't forget; remember. They are facts to existence, and you always move on. You always do.

Remember me, will you? My name is...
My name is...
My name...
Name...
My...