And he whispers - slowly, purposefully: “ You know I can't say that.” And that's when I realise. He loves me. He really does. But he can't. He shouldn't. Even as I look up at him, tears burning my eyes; I see reflected in his all I feel in my heart – and so much more. Passion. Flaming passion, so strong and so wild, that even without aid of the wind I feel it spread to my very heart, to my very soul. Burning my resolve, burning everything. Any sanity I had lies spread across the remnants of my mind, dancing in the wind – an unforgiving ash. I'm Stood amongst the desolate nothingness, that seems to stretch further than I could ever hope to perceive – and I can't see. I'm blinded by the fire.

And before he can move – before I can stop myself: I have him in my grasp, my hands gripping his shirt as though for dear life; and my lips locked on his. He has no escape, but the hopelessness I taste in his mouth tells me to let go – to quit while I still can. And my senses return - the fire seems to wane under the light rain that falls from the heavens of my head. Despair. A voice inside my head screams for his release, terribly afraid of the repercussions; of the damage I may have caused. My hands drop in an instant, and I move as though to take a step back. But I can't. For a moment I wonder if my legs have rebelled against me; refusing to let me stop, listening to my heart rather than my head. I wonder if my lips will pay any attention, and as I try again to stop, I feel a force like I have never experienced pushing against them. And as I become more aware of my surroundings; releasing myself from the prison of my mind, I can feel his hands desperately grasping my hips -refusing to let me escape. I am his prisoner now; and I gladly swap cells.

For the first time in my life, I felt content, I feel content; and as he deepened the kiss, pulling me closer against him, I felt complete. At long last my missing piece had been found, and had been precariously glued into that last remaining chip on my shoulder.

We move apart, both gasping for air; both realising that we can't live on each other alone.

And he whispers – slowly, purposefully: “ You know I can't say that.” And that's when I glance at him. Our eyes meet, and he whispers – slowly, purposefully: “ But you know that I will”.

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