I wish I were there with you, lying in the bed with you, my arms around you, my cheek resting on your shoulder.
One day, you've promised, we won't have to say good-bye. That we'll have hours and days and weeks and years to never stop being.
It's strange that we should be so optimistic with one another.
It's strange that I should be so trustful of your words.
But then, what do I have left? I stay up through the nights, writing through life as if writing through it makes the living of it easier.
I write about love at five in the morning. I write about wanting to die at other hours of the night. I write about you in another format, in another caress.
I'm beginning to doubt if I know how to do this after all--this loving. Yes, I've had many lovers, but I've never trusted myself as a lover.
But you assure me, always, you assure me, except when I'm assuring you.