We kiss on her parent’s doorstep in late November as the town dances unseen beneath us. Our mouths are cold but our hearts warm. Our fingers link and then release as my right-hand slides up her jumper and caresses her breasts. A few days later she stays over mine. We order Chinese and eat while watching some TV show that she likes. Sharing a tub of ice cream while deciding what film to put on, we make love instead. When it’s over, she rests her head on my chest as rain falls outside. Running my fingers through her hair, we talk about stuff that doesn’t matter, and then we talk about us. Once we were separate entities, but now we have merged. We are one and the same, and as she raises her face to mine and I kiss her lips, there is no divide. We are indivisible. We are mirrored. As she falls asleep, I release myself from her arms and slip out of bed. Pulling the sheets up to cover her shoulders, I kiss her on the ear and go downstairs. Pouring some wine, I sit down on the sofa before the window with my laptop. An hour or so later, she wakes and goes to the bathroom. She knows what I’m doing, and although it makes her sad, she understands that it must be done. The words don’t come, so I drink some more. Time ticks away, and as hard as I try, nothing puts itself into words. Picking away at old wounds, something comes to mind, tiny in size yet growing every minute. It’s a memory from a time before. Hazy at first, it begins to shine until I can taste it on the tip of my tongue. Remembering it with a sweat, the words begin to piss out of me, and although it makes me wince, the sense of catharsis I feel when it’s done is overwhelming. It took all of thirty minutes, but those several hundred words contain a slice of my soul. They say something that has been hidden for so long, but has now been given the respect it deserves. Smoking a few cigarettes, I finish writing and head back upstairs. Unsteady on my feet, the room spins as I step inside. She doesn’t stir, and as I take her in my arms, I kiss her on the neck as way of an apology. Asleep almost immediately, we dissolve until it’s time to be reborn in the heart of a story much the same as the one just conjured.