You found a
quantum oscillation in the middle of our bed, almost like
potential wells had sprung up in between us. You said they marked the ground with landmines that our
words could get sucked into.
"A quantum oscillation?!" I cried in disbelief, impatient with your dreaming. I tried to say "That's nothing!" but the
walls of those potential wells were slowly slowly growing.
"Look, that
quark is changing
flavor! You see, it's spreading like a
tumor." You pointed to the increase, and you showed it as a sign. I laid back down to
sleep and said it'd go away with
time.
So many things I ignored in our bed. I wonder why the smallest of them came back to haunt me.
You crept away in
fear, and backed away from the
ever widening gap. I didn't listen to your pleas, and slept in my idea that
fluctuations on that scale were meaningless.
Wasn't I surprised to see the vortex that had crept up by the time the dawn had come?
"See? See what
uncertainty can do?" Your words were lost already though, the winds of the swimming particles too loud to let them through. You waved your hands to get my attention, but before I knew, you'd
tunneled from my life.
How did you know something so small as a quantum oscillation could mean the end?
I watched but couldn't catch you.
I realized at one point just how quickly you were slipping, and I made my move to follow but then lost sight of your
position. I almost found you once but in that instant you hit
c. I think I saw you once, just to the right of Mercury, heading toward the sun. But by then it was too late and this
infinite potential well had eaten up our
bed.
There's nothing left, but I still can't tunnel out.