As I read back on my diaries now, I can scarely see how fast it changed, that love, that anticipation of sweetness and release, to now. I always thought that awakening would be beautiful, that real life was better, than dreams, than slumber. I see now what an error that was.
Sometimes, the wrongness of something can make it seem more powerful than it is. The silence surrounding it, the way its petals close around it in secrecy and the sheer terror that, if it went unprotected, it might crumble...well it can be the destruction, as well as the thrill.
I wonder what my love does now. How morning greets her. How she treads through the new day, boldly, with the fierceness that comes from being loved by someone else? Maybe she thinks of me, maybe a memory is burnt into her, maybe she reels from the gap between us.
I wouldn't know.