As he slowly pressed his lips onto my eyelids,
forehead,
then lingeringly onto my nose,
cheek and
finally,
my lips.

I then only realised how the seconds and minutes stretch out curving, meandering into  ∞.
Half-moons of barely whispered promises but heard all too well.

As I ruefully reminisce, ribbons of myself lay on dusty floors.
For you are never meant to live in the past.

Not again.

Then why do I feel the ghost of your lips dancing on mine?