Staccato

A restaurant, a stranger. A kiss on the knuckle, a sharp intake of breath. A tighter grip of the hand asking for more. I had little idea of what was to come.

A motel room, straps hanging from a door. The two of us, exhausted on the bed. Sated.

Another time, a nearby place. My hand falling against her flesh for the first time.

A coffee shop, in the evening. The words I love you fall from my lips, tears from her eyes.

Our rings, given with purpose, with love. Now worn with different purposes. Perhaps different love. But always love.

A small room, furnished. Sufficient for living, but not for life. But I'm with her. For the first time, I am with her without having to go home. I am without a home. But I have her, for a time.

Our kiss. Perhaps our last. Filled with the taste of each other, longing, regret, and memories.

She leaves the coffee shop quickly, seemingly with a purpose. Out into the rain.
She reaches her car and steadies herself with a hand against it. She drops her head. Reconsidering? Trying to remember how to breath? Overwhelmed with grief? Perhaps it was a bit of all of these.

Ya tebya liubliu. Always.

You need chaos in your soul to give birth to a dancing star.
Friedrich Nietzsche