We're On The Surface.

As the last I will write about you: When eighty years have passed, I wonder if I can still hold onto our shared history then the way I hold onto this shared present, this shared now. And if you will still make my heart burn shudder stagger through the rest of my life. And though we have lossed, will the universe still proceed in perfect time within the chronological record, as you and I are logged in exacted details between stars in the glacial gelidity of a timespace known only between the two of us. And if there God himself would grant opportunity to re-live our accident (the same way I re-live you daily, weekly, minute by minute) would I alter any facet? As I acknowledge this as my journey that I have emerged victoriously an escapement of the undertow of loving without love.

I have risen to the sobering surface to see warm, dark and silent a life as I have lead before and will lead again. And you may stay under forever, wet as though it was not so long ago that you were loving me. If you too can rise I will be here to show you, tell you that love exists in this place for you too. And that I am sorry for myself for participating and that I am sorry for you for initiating the exchange of stolen hearts. We, who will give that love from ourselves unending (yet it will still belong to us, as ours), we are waiting on the surface.