Through. No word sums it up more than through. It's my mantra. When we make love in the dark, I see faces of death upon looking down at your shape. Sometimes I feel as if we're embracing in the middle of a war-torn city being shelled around us. Sometimes I feel like you're a memory of a person that died long ago, and I'm making love to you only by virtue of vivid imagination. Because in a way, you are, and I'm already at that point in the distant future when the two of us are dead and forgotten. I try, but I can't always trick my mind into living in the present. I'm already past all of it. I'm through. But through is lonely. And I need to have dialogue to understand some things. So the ghost of me comes back and dances with the ghost of you as if there were time.


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