. it’s not during the in-between kisses, when one is looking to the other only when they have their eyes closed. it isn’t the moment you reveal you think you’re unable to do something the way she expects it or when you see the hurt in her eyes. it’s not when you think you’re phisically and psicologically separated from happiness.
. it’s not when the last hug happens; or the last kiss or the last look. it isn’t her soothing tone that says very subtly that ‘on the contrary, you may be the least broken thing in the world’. it isn’t when you ruin everything by almost passing out and how when you’re alone sitting on the bed with your hair all wet you think fainting is a metaphor for escaping – of what, you have no idea.
. it isn’t when you realize you can transform any second into not some deep as you think analasys about yourself. it isn’t.
. it’s when the engine starts going. and you have nowhere else to look at but the moving vehicle. it’s when those aching seconds go on and on and on. and even when it’s over, you can’t think about anything else.
listening while writing: New Order – Age of Consent