He's taken his hand away from my shoulder and begins with this heavy breathing. Is that REM sleep, or is he just rejecting me with the warmth of the air coming out of his mouth?
Either way, I've been in charge of handleling situations like this before. I'm just wondering now if he really existed before I met him. If anything really did.
What is it that evaporates behind my back when my desire goes off? It seems impossible that I could be the person that loves, and then stops loving. One day you're standing in front of a mirror and the next minute your whole body is taken under the idea of re-inventing it all. And everything around you, human or not, reveals a different color, like inanimated objects do, so then there is no difference between caring or not.
But really, who am I to compete with the unknown? And how could I ever oppose to the beauty of the things that haven't been written yet?
I should be able to understand how lucky I am to contemplate my beloved's beauty when it begins to retract, slowly loosing every escence, until it disappears. I shall appreciate how his hand leaves my shoulder. Learn how to be on a side, for the silence to take my place.
