They want to grip the rails of time, dragging it back and confining it so it never escapes. They want it to last forever, but nothing remains forever than the romantically stupid word- forever.

/

Things come to an end. You'll do anything to stay; he'll do anything to leave. There is this ache at the pit of your stomach, the kind that makes you want to crawl back under the sheets in hopes to retrieve the oblivion.

You do not feel scared. You feel numb. And you want to feel anything, so you go to grab his hand and when you do, it feels wrong. You hate that it feels wrong, but you are secretly glad it does.

Because if it felt right, it would have complicated everything. Slowly, you start to put the wall back up as you notice the stranger before you. The body next to yours is recognizable, but there is no soul that was mended with yours. You cannot detect the lover who's presence you craved, and you start to feel cold.

You realize the dark state of the room, and the rough sheets. You do not touch him, because you don't know if you should. There is enough distance between you, but you feel too close. You don't know what to do.

Both staying and leaving feels right, and you cannot think rationally. You want to kick yourself in the face, in the heart, you want to rip it out and hand it to him on a silver plate. But once you realize you already did that a while ago, you want it back.

But you cannot have it. Because you don't know weather he still has it.

You focus on the white ceiling. Your breathing is not in sync with his. Your soul feels detached from your body, and you suddenly feel power. You want him to hand you over everything he has left of you, but you don't know how to tell him that.

But he seems to know what you mean, because he leans over to kiss you, and you both know it is so wrong. But you kiss him again, thinking this is the last time your lips meet his.

But you live down the hall, and you always come back. If you don't, he does. But you think of why you can't be with him anymore. And tears surface. He pulls away, wiping a rogue tear. His own eyes are sorrowful, and you both know that you are only hurting each other. You need time to heal.

And staying feels both right and wrong. But you never know to do the right thing. So you do what feels wrong. You sit up. And you know you have to leave.