„Do you still love me?“
A moment of sweet and delicate, sharp pain.
„No.. Do you?“
„No.“ She smiled.
And the saddest part is.. we both were liars. This is the past. We both were nothing but the echo of something that happened many years ago. Like a soft shock. The aftershock of our heartbeat.
„Do you really love her?“
A moment of harsh and ugly pain.
„Yes.. do you really love her?“
„Yes..“, she smiled.
Still we're bickering in this hotel room bed. This is the present. The way you're moving against my mouth. Your gaze, when you're pulling my hair. The sweet sound of licking the wounds we both hammered into our skin.
I can't take my eyes off of you. Knowing that this is possibly the most hurtful thing I'd ever do to me.
Fucking you. Kissing you in the full knowledge that.. [Sigh.]
This is you. This is your life, the scars you wore like a silk scarf, the sadness on your lips and the mature look in your eyes.
„We should be together.“, I'd howl onto your lips, as close to tears as I can get.
„But we aren't..“ you'd answer me, taking every punch of my words and my core, rotating wild in my chest. An apparatus out of control. Out of mind. Out of me.
We're not together.
[A slug of agony.]
And this? This is the future.