..this was how you put it once. Like losing a limb. I was asking for something beyond what is due to me, beyond what I wanted, even.But I did, and kept on doing so, kept on prodding for answers. It is what the moment called for, after all, some unrelenting questioning, an insistent skepticism. This was your response, like losing a limb, how you managed to phrase an outright refusal of parting perfectly, adequately — perhaps a reference to morbidity functions as a striking contrast of sorts, or you truly thought it was the closest approximation of the hypothetical pain.
It was then that I felt assured and void of doubts for the first time. I remember thinking how roads can go on forever but how ours will always circle back to each other nevertheless; for whatever we find on the other side — some perspective, another hand to hold, maybe love and certainty and other things we know we don’t have here — at the very least, we would want to tell each other about, a sprinkle of adjectives and hyperboles here and there, but only for good measure. I remember witnessing daybreak from a mountaintop and wanting only to transport the images back home to you. I remember faces and places and names and detours and wanting, always, to tell you of all those that happens in between, the things other people would overlook but you would beg to be told about each night, when nothing and no one matters as much. Like losing a limb, you said, and never again did I bother to ask about leaving and what is logical and what we both deserve instead.
And then I remember reptiles and regeneration, and your skin: dry and flaky under the glare of the summer sun.