My head on his chest, I hear his heartbeat drumming away just like mine. The memories before now are a blur, his face is the only one I remember. Are we not all the same? Confused, aware, plain. Are we not all thirsty? For him, for her, for mother. Are we not all in between? Trying, crying. His fragile words compelling me, I pray to the gods of life to make this real, to make me see that this too is only but a spark in time, to feel now or never.

 
Picture; Flickr