What we’ve done, both out in the open and in the shadows, has ended and so we stand together but we are not looking at each other. In fact, even though you don’t know yet, you will not exist anymore. I am afraid of what we’ve done, what we’ve become, though it has also excited me. We have walked away from this secluded memory so many times and every moment it becomes harder, and more exciting, but definitely harder, and it is just a matter of time, a matter of time since the time we met…

…when we met, we never realized how similar we were. It was just a friendship, weird and extravagant, but we made it work. Being together was a shock to my system, and as we talked and had fun and laughed, it soon came to be. A question, a little intrigue, what if we did this, what if we got away with it, but we couldn’t possibly of course, we couldn’t do something like this, but what would it require, and on and on, until the conversation ended in an exciting, wonderful silence. There was no escape for either of us. You knew what I wanted and I knew what you wanted and the next times we spoke, we were so eager to prove ourselves, so ready to do something beyond mere words, but we always pulled back. We were going to get caught, we were going to forget this and this, we were going to make so many mistakes, and when we came home drenched in blood, what would be the excuse then, to have done the unspeakable, for no reason, in such a random manner. But we did it and it felt wonderful. There was much rejoicing that night and though we drank and blessed our luck, there was a little, bothersome voice in the back of head. We had avoided all my fears, but the moment of joy, the greatest height I had, with your help, reached in my life, was gone and all that stood between you and me and our numb fingers, so tired of digging and strangling, was the hollow expression that always followed an orgasm so magnificent. It must be done, it must be done again and again if we were to maintain our paths for the moments lasted so little and the happiness they brought so ephemeral, it almost seemed like a waste of time. All for that, all for that, and all we had to show for it was a trail that could easily be traced and a friendship that was sustaining itself in the fear of absence, who could ever take your place, or mine, who could ever know where the place is, where the hearts are rotting, where we made love in such cruel, sensual positions…

…the danger has become unbearable, I hear, and I agree in the warmest of nights, high alert and high bodies, and the joy has already ended. Every time it happens, it has become less and less valuable, the risk has increased, and the results have been minimal, no longer do we feel in the same wavelength. Just one more, you must know, just one more, so nobody can ever tell my deepest darkest secret, that to me this was a time like no other, although nimble, a season so impossible to replicate, a set of circumstances so improbable to emulate, that all the memories I retain, such as this, will be, as I look back, a single, solitary scene, what else to say if we both felt trapped by the same desires, that I have succumbed to the last one, the one that involves you, a figment more, another nostalgic reference for my absent-minded personality. I hope I never forget you.

I like to write for some reason so I’m doing it here. I’ll try write something every day, and hopefully, get better at it.