In all your travels through time, across space, you were bound to pass through the lives of people who would decide the fate of the universe, people who could save even you, and too often people you cannot steal away even if you wanted. Because you are clever and powerful and gifted with a charisma the size of a solar system, most everyone you meet falls in love, in their own way. History is written about you - and sonnets. You wink from the paintings of the masters and yet remain only an idea in the minds of most you've saved or doomed, perhaps joy or love or war or healing. Maybe you could come to life before them if they but whispered your elusive name. Still others take your hand and run with you, visiting frozen oceans on distant planets or fighting battles that were never meant to be theirs, until they've faced death too many times, until they find someone they love more or you abandon them with a promise to return. The romantic side of you - the one who named the car "Bessie", who took a 19-year-old shopgirl to visit the father she had never known, who shared a cup of cocoa and accidentally got engaged - really believed he was coming back. Is it any wonder that after all the worlds you've traversed, all the people you've seen, that just one of us might tear apart time itself to save you?