Endgame.

like the trauma of birth must have been embedded in my muscle tissue, somehow the memories of the emotions you tightly wound around me have embedded in my moist brain folds. to make sure i am not blind to the thick, but imaginary line between real and past has been an ambitious struggle, to move forwards, and be everything you wanted me to be, but never was.

it was beyond biology, i have always believed. nothing can make your body sing like that, unless its bigger than natural order, natural selection. its was loud, and painful and hot and frozen, and rough and gritty, the passion and the love.

and the memory of the feelings will remain within me for as long as they may. they arent a rope to strangle around my neck, and they aren't a wall i will walk into. but they stand like old mountains, pushed up by tumultuously ill fitted land masses, the topography of what was you and me, but never as a singular.

the bittersweetness of it all, it is pleasingly painful. and with all the distaste you left on my tongue, and the scars on my eyes, somehow when i think of you, i have to smile and hurt just a little bit.

we must be done playing.

or we must wait endlessly.