+ que ayer, - que mañana

Is it wrong?

Many times I've waited in the calm, warm room of mine, for an answer to that question. I'm turned to my left, you breathe right on my neck and I can't think anymore. You're there, and nothing else seems to matter.

But life can't always be that way.

I have to accept it, maybe. So I ask myself if this, what we have, this fucked up relationship, where you hide and I run,  is right. We're one, we're torn, and we can't seem to find a way back. And then again, I realize we didn't have a say.

It was given to us, so much struggling, so much pain was undergone so we could have this now, ripping apart the seams of time and space, bringing you to my side.

Is it wrong that I love you? Is it wrong for me to hold such feelings? Yet, as you say, it was planned, it's all going according to a bigger plan, a bigger picture I fail to see. Just shut up and listen, now. Am I taking what's not mine? Are you supposed to be someone else's, somewhere else, a newborn child? Am I holding you back?

You say no, but your words are of deceit. You know as well as I do you stay for me. Now you say nothing, but you want to hold my hand. I can feel you behind me, breathing, making me cold.

Hold me tight and lie to me, tell me it's not wrong, we're not breaking any rules, not human nor divine. Tell me it's ok for me to love myself, that that's all there is to it, that you can't leave without me and surely up there they must know, for we're only half, apart. That it's just right for us to be together, nevermind that you withered long ago.

You're here, real and solid, for me to touch, when the light goes down, and I see myself in this mirror you've become. It is not wrong, you say, because I love you more than yesterday, and less than tomorrow, and then you point to my neck and I realize you're right. 

On me, the rings, the lies and the hidden truth in them, and everything else we failed to say.