Leaves Heal

I wish I could recall the date it began. An intrigue to last forever, at least in the halls of memory, in not the material world. From the simplest, accidental rendezvous, then a laboriously painful waiting until seemingly casual circumstances could be fashioned into calculated plans. There you were, aglow in the night, close enough, but seemingly miles away.

Then thrust together, only in words, not yet in substance. That would come later, yet in this time, where time has lost its value, where watches spin counter, and the sunrise and sunset betray comprehension. From the first glimpse to the first kiss was either days or weeks, minutes or months, heartbeats or life spans. 

When released upon the unsuspecting, it came like an earthquake, hurricane, tidal wave, flood, I tried my best to harden my heart, but she wouldn’t let me. There I was naked as a tomcats’ behind.

As earlier stated, time is a rascal. It is not subject to the folly of man. Conversely, time isn’t holding us, time is an act of us. Even if an infant could understand speech, they could never understand the abstract of time, even the educated would have difficulty defining time, without using the word “time.”

Speaking of time, it was the one thing we were not given enough of. Imagine the relentless pressure weighing down if you were given a task of writing a symphony in only 10 minutes. Even the most gifted musician would crumble under the tension of time. Time, we know, doesn’t care, it marches on, or just passes silently, unnoticed. What was evident was that in matters of time, relativity is an issue, and our love, as it were, outshined, our love, so fast. 

Concluded in a singular phase of the moon. Less than one haircut cycle, shorter than a full hormonal phase, not all loves last, not every love fades, however, they do all leave behind evidence, and even that heals, in passing.

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