There's beauty in your gaze as it's focus draws the lines I'm molded. An avalanche, if I may. There's no such thing as logic in love. You might as well suffocate me in a teeny tiny bit of seconds while resting your hands safely on both sides of your body. A mere bet, a moment, a lifetime.
As our souls free fall towards the pit of the abyss we created, I wonder.
'What would I be if I wasn't right here' is a shallow query. Perhaps 'how could I ever be with the lack of it' is a more fitting question. How strongly did I pretend not to observe the small details as everything was torn up in pieces. Scratches invisible to one's eyes. I'm here, with you.
You forehead against mine, as unreadable as you could be. For a brief moment I sense more than the pure necessity of chaos you so diligently ached and craved and searched for in your few years. I feel it for your eyes won't ever let me go.
And as diligently as I can be, I hold onto them for dear life.
Two sparkles of what we could've been.
No one.
Nowhere.
I'm falling towards my end, I'm gladly embracing it with you. The whole reason why we're sensing this enigmatic feeling on the pit of our stomach is the brilliant brain hidden under your skull.
If only this actually felt like falling.
Your hands finally reach mine, gently, soothing. You tie our fingers together. Trembling lids shut themselves finally, the azure coolness replaced with blue and purple veins softly daring to make their way on your skin.
Was I not me, I could tell you're crying. But there's no moist. Your last wish is to hold me as tightly as you can. You're not being egoistic this time, unlike mine, your brain doesn't follow any logic.
On the very end, you seek for the comfort you only find on the spaces between my fingers. You're afraid.
And we fall, and fall.
It's eternal, it's ethereal.
It's foolish how I only noticed this now:
You need me as much as I need you.
All those years.
A final glance, I finally understand. No other course of living would be more logical than to die beside your one true love. And it's illogical.
Yet we have to hit an end. The last one. And there's nothing else to be thought.