he presupposed she would be there when it'd be all over.
he supposes she was there before he arrives.
he will be asking this over and over again
where is she now?
somewhere else
when she eventually leaves
or he leaves
he posthumously supposed he would be away for good.

then.

he doesn't like being teased that this may be the n. time I say goodbye.

the moment is that which presupposes another moment that happened before;
almost immediately
the moment ceases to be the same moment

he doesn't like being told to do what is 'best' for me.
superlatives are the worst invention of language.

how do you measure love?
how do you measure pain?
how do you measure joy?

you certainly asked for it.

the moment is that which escapes me.

I can't stop the flow,
that which tears us apart;
splits us,
and we become bubbles of memories,
remembered and forgotten by the same minds that can imagine

/ / / / / / / / / / / /
all over the place

the moment and the person trapped in the moment are inseparably apart

assuming this ends,
is it then a beginning?
how long can we prolong?
he doesn't like being thrown and tossed by his pathos
he likes being thrown and tossed by his pathos

the moment is implosion!

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
change your perspective

I have one more task at hand.
before my entire self falls as an abyssal swerve of existence;
before I cease to be.
when you become an atomized memory, colliding with my consciousness
and I sigh, thinking how it is possible,
that my soul can never touch you, and hold your hand
towards

the moment is eternal

for once,
think of only me,
alongside
as an invisible presence
who truly
sincerely
earnestly

prays for you

every moment


yours,
(fill in the blanks)

with this,
I give up.