If a perfect love existed, it would shift time to include nothing but the beginning and the middle, but never the end.

Beginnings hold the promise of an everlasting sunshine. A sweet heat kissing your skin as it drifts across your sky. It doesn’t ask for anything but to experience you. It sweeps across you slowly, carefully. It melts your thoughts so that your only acknowledgement is the soft thoughts that flow between the memories of today and the passion that lives in tomorrow.

The moment builds. It holds you in its gaze. You think you have control, but you cannot imagine a life without the excitement living in your soul. Your heart races with the ideas that life could mean more than just waking and sleeping each day and each night. His eyes bleed blue, even though they lie.

 

So lie to me. It will kill me in the end, but in a perfect love, there is no such thing. Give yourself to me. Whatever it is you have to give. I can pretend it is all that you have… but my mind knows you have so much more. I can tell it to shut up. I can act like I am the only one.

Put your hands on me. I can’t help but imagine what it might feel like to to have you. To have you. To have you on me. Over me. Inside me.

My heart breaks. But I remember we are only at the beginning. Stop thinking the end will come. The end doesn’t come in a perfect love.

Love doesn’t exist.

Only, it does. It’s all that matters. Sorry, I am too cold to feel it. Its fire could light the world. I’ll look away, because I only want to know beginnings. But beginnings don’t hold the love one needs. The middle doesn’t fill a soul with hope. Its the end that holds it all.

The end. A love that ends. It ends with a giving. Give everything you have. The faith in your heart, the idea of a fleeting glimpse of return, the strength that lives in the comfort of a winter warmth wrapped in a blanket that sits still and stoic.

She stands still. Strong. Happy and lost. I don’t want to be her. Not ever. I only want the beginnings. I only want middles.

The middle is where the passion lives. You spend the whole beginning exploring, but the middle is when you dive. Deeper. Into the depths. The smells are so enticing. They swirl inside you, sending shivers into the small spaces you forgot were part of you.

I didn’t know I even could feel in that space you tried to enter. Don’t worry. I blocked it from even thinking about reaching the end. I know you weren’t headed there anyway. Even if you thought it was a nice place to head towards, I’ve only known misery to follow.

Let’s live in the abyss that swallows the beginning and the middle. It’s the space where you hold my attention and I hold yours. Your dreams entice my mind and my fantasies torture your senses.

You can believe me when I say I want to experience the essence of you. Even if it means I cry tomorrow. I cry for the loss of the end, but I rejoice in the middle. The middle where you fill me. Fill me with pleasure. A pleasure I have never experienced. A pleasure that makes me believe in forever. When that moment comes that you know time has stopped.

You can see it in his eyes. A glimpse at the other side. Stars you never knew existed, replace empty thoughts. Why does God only share this place with you while you are entwined with another? Doesn’t he know how bad it hurts?

And then the clock ticks again. The breathing subsides. And you wish for the beginning and the middle. That perfect love. You saw it for a second. You pushed it away. It doesn’t exist.

Only it does. At the end.

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