That kiss.
The moment you put it on paper, it’s gone.
The second you describe it to your friends, it dies.
The minute you sing it in your car, it expires.
That touch.
Try to remember its path.
Try to retain its emotion.
Try to preserve its energy.
That look.
He’s peering right through you.
He’s viewing your every move.
He’s seeing everything that you do.
Intimate portraits of you, displayed in the lens of his mind, or at least that is what you hope.
And maybe, this time, it is about you, instead of me…
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