I have lost myself to love twice.
Three times, depending on the shaking nature of my memory that day. Lately, it moves like trees in the wind with light falling at random. Things get lost in the darkness.
...
Don't the hours go shorter as the days go by?
We were going to save the world that night, both his hands pressed around my neck, softly, careful not to hurt me. He poured everything he had inside into me.
I like it that way, almost but never quite in pain.
I wake up the next morning sure I was in the house of someone else, a man I knew once but no longer. I remember the trees where he lived. They met above the road, like a bridge.
What he will remember of me when he's old?
It scared me right out of myself.
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