Her lips tasted like the universe, like the edge of our universe. If there was a sample of the taste of the universe, her lips would be that sample.
Last night I saw her. My brain, already flooded with dopamine and endorphines, was not able to produce any more of those substances when I saw her. Her sight did not change a thing of what was going on, I did not feel any happier or sad. She was just there, like a shadow that won't move because the light source which is creating it is static, because all I could see, hear, feel and fear in that exact moment was static. But I did know I wanted her, I did know I still loved the taste of her lips, the taste of her smile and the sweet sound of her laughter when I said something stupid or the way she would look at me after a long session of non-sense chat. I still liked the way she holds the soap bar, the way she holds a book as she reads it or how stoked she was when she heard me say "spooky" for the first time.
Then I blinked. She was there no more. I turned my head. She was there. I closed my eyes, took a breath, opened my eyes. She was not there. I turned my head. She was not there. I turned my head. She was not there. I turned my head. She was not there. I gave up.
She flew as other friends have flown before, she did not wait for the morrow. She flew as my hopes have flown before.
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