Rendezvous
15 December 05 : 04.23 AM
Your iron lung.
I cannot break you. I am too proud to gloat. And Winter melts away even before Spring descends. And I am too aware to loathe. And this flesh before me, will make me feel all the terrible emotions that stem from guilt, should I be malicious enough to try to inject them into said flesh, because of the fact that I intended to.
When breath was drawn out of you, and your mortality seemed more evident than when you have a girl you barely know between your legs doing things to you that's part of every young man's wet dreams, how could you believe, even in that beautiful four years, that a girl who can break your heart, and you being ever so aware of that, bestowed upon you immortality?
I can promise that my bed stays free of creases and animal-scent of another flesh should you decide things are bad and needed to escape us, but how can I preserve you the way it did?
I know of your frailty, and iron lungs are hard to come by like soulmates.
Immortality is a book by Milan Kundera that I have but never read and is a state you believe I can never feel with you, but it's something you've been searching for ever since girl-immortalized left. And maybe it's me who can't be where your iron lung was, or still is.