Kisses change from fire to tepid water, the vigor of the body fades like fireflies at dawn, like the jewels of the city seeping into twilight grey, like a flock of birds settling into sleep in a frost-glazed tree. Every moment is quickened by its passing but nothing seems important. Possibilities become less possible, and fewer in number.
I want to love it all before I wave goodbye - I want to love what is and what has been and I want to love it fading. If I say I love it does it mean I do? Or do I just witness the changing?
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