It was only a second. It felt more like Armageddon, a source of dependence. My very core was augmented, no force, just indebted to pain, embedded; the flow descending in waves. Chakra, like flames, no position, no direction, unphased. See, most of what I felt was descriptions, captions in italics, a handpicked basket of malice, last resort love-lust. I decide first. It’s hard to describe a picture with nine hundred ninety-nine words. Inarguable. We didn’t argue; we just cut you off to yell in your face. You could feel the dismay, built up incendiary droplets of sage. Rose petals kissed the spots on your face, dynamite dulcet decay. Vitalize vital signs, ultra-displacement. I memorized your voice, so estranged, umbra vibrations. Ultraviolet rays touched the recliner in gray. I went on for an hour, armchair therapy. You sat in your bed, tears rolling down my cheek, as I let you know it wasn’t okay, how I felt, how unlucky I was, how stars realigned themselves on that day. Perfect memory tenses, serial lover, in bed with the Zodiac Killer. I murdered your obsession with stargazing once my sign became unfamiliar.
I get along without you perfectly, darling. I’ve forgotten you, just like I should have, regardless. I hear your laughs in whispers of wind, details I thought I’d forgotten, any scintilla, bit into the apple that brings you into my garden. Songs that played in the background of trysts we partook in are nothing, just tunes that became aloof and out of tune. A fool for thinking autumn would sing to me during December’s departure, devilish palm touch, crackling firewood in rhythm with heartbeats, dwindling darkness. You’d hear the goosebumps raise if you listened in softly, killing me, hardly. I get along without you, perfectly, darling. Of course, I do, except perhaps in autumn, but I should never think of autumn, for that would shatter my heart in two.