Measuring Forever

It’s Sunday night. You know you should be getting to bed soon. You don’t know why, but you feel more alive than you have in weeks. The stardust coursing through your veins is finally reaching for the sky again.

You feel the way your breath catches in your lungs for just a moment, like you’re holding onto something. You pray that Chronos will let this feeling last before Oizys can remind you of all the reasons you have to die.

Maybe it’s the music playing on the radio. Maybe it’s the view of the world speeding past as you stare from the car window. Maybe it’s the way she keeps stealing glances at you from the driver’s seat. But you realize, in this moment, that life could go on forever, and you wouldn’t even mind. That this moment could kiss eternity. That her eyes could be your lantern into Tartarus and you would happily follow.

Perhaps it’s a beautiful thing, loving someone like that. Or perhaps it’s dreadful. Perhaps your hands are already tied in her hair, and you know neither of you will leave without losing a part of yourselves. Maybe you’re bleeding into each other, hoping to taste the essence of joy. Maybe she’s sweet on your tongue, but bitter going down. Maybe when your veins tie together, you can honestly say, “You’re my type” because you haven’t yet swallowed death from her lips. Neither of you know what kind of blood you have. It’s a miracle you fit together.

And maybe the final chapter is written on torn-up pages. Maybe the epilogue is sour and rotten. But in this moment, before the opening scene, you know it’s okay. You know it’s okay.

For just a moment, she’s permanent. For just a moment, you’re living in eternity. And for just a moment, you have enough.

That’s why we love. Not for infinity. Not for lifetimes.

We love for moments. We live for moments. Maybe we dig our graves in those moments. Because time stops beneath the surface.

So you take a deep breath, and you live as if this night will last forever.