We had the perfect affair—
no feelings, drama, attachments, certainties
just passion, a couple of living in the moment anecdotes, and hot evening’s desire for a subzero Ale.
There are no reassurances, no semblances of tomorrow,
just quiet spoken words of “I’m gonna see you again soon.”
There are no dwellings of the past, background-checking and nitpicking,
just simple rendezvous of you and I.
There are no weigh-ins, where are yous, baggage claims,
just whispers, glances, and a constant day in and day out.
There are no clingy needs to be pleased, sweet nothings,
just natural conversations that come out spontaneously,
like an all-out straight-to-the-point “this is what it is.”
We had this perfect affair—
Almost.
Until little monsters of feelings set in,
Until demons suddenly become an appendage,
Until you become aware that for me, this is not really just what it is,
Until you can no longer stand the need after need of how are yous, or worse, i miss yous,
Until there’s always a question of then, why, how, when, what or who?
Until I cannot draw the line between affairs and entanglements,
Until I misused bold words, too strong for you to hear,
Until you suddenly gone pooft and kaput.
We had the perfect affair–
Not quite.
Until I realized that there are no perfect affairs whatsoever,
just good ones, short good ones that need to be what it really was—
pre-terminated.