That time it felt gentle, sweet, wonderful and tears fell from my eyes and you smiled in embarrassment and we continued after you asked if I felt that you were using me and I couldn’t really answer and later replied, no its not that.
That time, so many times. I’m not just me anymore. I’m bits of you. Moments sweeter than idealized romantic stories, and more painful than on picture goodbye’s. How can I live without breathing you by my side? Knowing that slowly my memory will faint and parents will be gone, then me or you, gone too. Who were we? How did we?