Not Romance

The amount of time left is not so great; I can feel it slipping through my fingers as I write.

She was the one though, I doubt if I will, or could ever forget her. She took my hand as we walked under the moonlight. It was a bit like romance, although, we both knew too much for it to be romance.

It was just sex: desire, lust. Maybe it could have been more, given time - but it is hard to tell now. It was such a long time ago.

I found it hard to believe she was even interested in me. Let alone that she wanted, desired me. I feel too much of the fool to be an object of desire for anyone. She did feel that way though, and, I suppose, that is what makes the memory of her so important to me.

It seems so long ago. Sometimes it even seems as though all of it happened to some other person; as though it is not me, and only me, who inhabits this shell of a body. Sometimes the memories take me by surprise, as though they belong to someone else, someone other than me.

I do not want to walk out in the world though. It is better for me to stay here, inside… inside, where it is safe. I have no need to go out there. All I need is here. All I want is here, except her - of course.