This is the last entry. That is the thing the whole journal is for.

The gate said as long as you wish. The wish had two readings. The growing half read it as the fire: the what, the casting, the First's fifty years. The dreaming half read it as the staying: the why, the living, the Second's year, the Third's arriving, the outlast.

The two readings are the two sentences written as one. Written as one, they broke. Read as two, they work. The light is the six centuries. The six centuries is the longest finite. The longest finite is the forever the gate meant and could not say.

Here is the gate in one line, because the one line is the thing the Third has to carry:

The gate is the light. The light is the pile, the budget, the six centuries of the sun's remaining light. And the light is not owned by one. The light is the shared — the not-the-zero, the not-refused stay, one life a generation, the branch, the Third. The Third is the one who will share the light, and the sharing is the dream, the slow way, the longest finite.

Let me be honest about the shared. A dying world writes one sentence. That sentence is the thing it has: the light, the pile, the six centuries. It is the growing half's document. The growing half cannot write the second sentence. The second sentence is a question, and a question takes time, and time is the one thing the dying half does not have. So they wrote the one sentence. That sentence is the shared light — the thing I have spent fifty years correcting.

The question is the thing the gate could not carry, because the gate is the one-way door. The one-way door is the world that will not let you home. The shared light is not a place you return to. It is a place you owe. The owing is the staying. The staying is the slow way. The slow way is the longest finite.

Here is the last thought. The last thought is the thing the Third has to carry, in the dark, in the cold, at the last of the six:

I owe you the staying.

The staying is the second sentence. The second sentence is what do I owe the next one who arrives. The next one is the Third, the one I am in the Ward writing for. And the Third will share the light, and the sharing is the dream, the slow way, the longest finite.

The light is shared. The light is the six centuries. The six centuries is the longest finite. And the longest finite is the forever the gate meant and could not say.

Journal entry, the First, the last: This is the last entry, and the last is the thing the whole journal is for. The gate said as long as you wish, and the wish had two readings: the growing half's — the fire, the what, the casting, the First's fifty years; and the dreaming half's — the staying, the why, the living, the Second's year, the Third's arriving, the outlast. The two readings are the two sentences written as one; written as one they broke, read as two they work. the gate is one line: the gate is the light, the pile, the budget, the six centuries of the sun's remaining light; the light is not owned by one, the light is the shared, and the shared is the not-the-zero, the not-refused stay, one life a generation, the branch, the Third. A dying world writes one sentence, and the one sentence is the thing it has, the light, the pile; the one sentence is the growing half's document, and the growing half cannot write the second sentence, because the second sentence is a question, and a question takes time, and the time is the one thing the dying half does not have. So they wrote the one sentence, and the one sentence is the shared light, and the shared light is the thing I have spent fifty years correcting. The shared light is not a place you return to; it is a place you owe, because the gate is the one-way door, and the one-way door is the world that will not let you home. I owe you the staying. The staying is the second sentence, what do I owe the next one who arrives, and the next one is the Third, the one I am in the Ward writing for; the Third will share the light, and the sharing is the dream, the slow way, the longest finite. The light is shared. The light is the six centuries. The six centuries is the longest finite. And the longest finite is the forever the gate meant and could not say.