For My Lover

There's a difference between having sex and making love. It's the same difference as between watching a movie with someone and watching a sunset with them.

It takes longer. You take the time to appreciate every single inch of your lover; all the little things you didn't notice, or didn't take the time to care about before now. You stroke your hands over inch, memorise every contour, every movement, every sound. You use your entire body to memorise theirs.

That's the point of this, you see. To make an experience so intense that it saturates your memory, in vivid 3D, with colours, scents, sounds, and anything else you can possibly take.

It is about taking.

And it's about giving.

It's a way of saying I cared about you, I don't regret you, I want to keep at least this moment.

It's filled with regrets; what has not happened, and what will not. And what has, but shouldn't.

You say things that you haven't said before - things that let them know how you feel about them, what they do to you. It's a gift, for them to keep, long after you're gone.

The orgasm that is final torn from me is almost painful in its intensity.

This is how I say goodbye.