I was nineteen. You had your lips on my neck and whispers in my ear. You drove me crazy. But I mistook crazy for absolute happiness.
And I wonder if the moment I die will know it’s the moment I die.
Time never touched you. It touched me and then I seemed to regret everything. Your hair in my face, eyes in my mind, a darkness I found in you. But you don’t regret. You hold within. You feel in memory because love lost is still a love once had. You remember passion, conversations over dinner, moments interwoven before each other. We die to live, not die to cry over memories which don’t last our expected timeframe.
I laid in darkness, in bed with the same song on repeat for hours. I wasn’t sad. I was happy because that’s what happiness was to me.
You choose darkness over light because one is the truth and one is the mask.
We’re meant for each other for a moment, but no one knows how long the moment lasts except the moment itself.
In theory, I never loved you. I loved us. That’s what everyone forgets.
You slip in night because darkness is a type of coldness. A temperature where you feel somewhat safe. By feeling safe, you feel like you. You blend in with the night causing your shades to become temporary enough to expose them.
And I touch. Not because I want to feel, but because I’m looking to see if this is real.
I couldn’t sleep without you. Not because I needed you, but because your body was a temperature I was used to being next to.