I only exist in fragments of time, and so is my love. You had me whole in a night of tenderness. I knew kindness and bliss enough to turn you into a sweet memory.
"Why can't it happen again? Why do you have to turn me into a memory the moment you walk out of that room?" You said I lived and loved as a story teller. Quite a story you were.
I cannot keep killing you, but you are not able to let me go. Perhaps I am not either.
Thus I wonder how to write a wonderful story without having it falling in love with me or myself falling in love with it.