I have stopped counting. The times we make love, each single moment we become one, I stopped counting. There is no need for it anymore. They will keep happening over and over and over, anyway. If I keep doing it, I will certainly lose count.
I took note of almost everything from the start. I wanted to make sure I don’t miss each single, breathing moment that we’re together, that he is there making love to me like I’m the only one. Like his life depended on my touches. Each moment is like a dream, surreal and almost unbelievable. When he starts to kiss me, and the world around me swirls, I get lost and melt away with the air that I breathe…
And then we depart and I go away with a thousand sunsets in my heart. The moment is gone, the feelings bursting. It’s like you’re falling into oblivion forever. And so I look at my notes, and look at the numbers… the times we had each other… the times when love is so free and primitive it won’t have any other words for it. These notes have become home for my vagrant heart. They tell me he’s mine, that he wants me, that I got something to hold on to.
Indeed, I have lost count already. There will be more of it, everyday will be a reminiscence of our present and our future. There is eternity for us and the love that gives us life rather than death, hope rather than despair ...
Sunrise rather than sunset ...
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