I am a rapt lover. Wrapped in love. I love all over.
I am stagnant in a fugitive moment. Flashing touch. Fleeting and focused. I love all over. Twisted. Tangled. Transfixed on emotion. Every word. Every breath. I am attached and devoted. I love all over. I adore and he desires. I am high and floating. Isolated from the present world. Detached from a livid past. A bleak past.
The past. The past. The past. The past.
It enters the bedroom and greets my eager smile with a hellish grin. The past now stands over me. A demon figure. It gets close. And closer. Hissing in my ear.
“He could break you. With one hand to your head,” The Past reminds me.
The thought. It crawls inside my body. And then his. Now a shared cancer.
“He will break you.”
I turn my head. The past grabs my throat with its claws and calmly snarls.
“Unless you break him.”
Break him? My mind protests. It can’t compete. The past wins. Love’s over.
My love’s all over.