You are not here. There is nothing left for words to do.

Even when memory retreats, your scent seeps into the present. And every touch becomes a fragment of what we once were.

What were we? Drops of water sliding down our bare skin. The warmth of our bodies. The silence of our lips.

We were time — the best time there ever was. We were eternity pierced by the present.

When what is wraps itself in the soft web of what was, we hold ourselves in thoughts — our thoughts — never spoken aloud.

Because what is born between two needs no words. It asks for eternity.

A second of trembling stillness — we stop breathing. And then — one of us will. The other will choose the unknown.

But in truth, we both always choose it.