The Losing Game
They played a game that no one ever won.
His lips crashed against hers painfully and she was sure that he'd leave bruises. But for them, there wasn't any time to leave just short, empty, and flaccid memories in the midst. When they came together, it was beautiful, heart wrenching, dazzling, and simply heterodox. Lust and love would mix within the satin sheets to become this sinful, pleasurable fusion that existed in the suffocated space between them. Their hearts laid forgotten on the nightstand, for these acts weren't about love...
At least, they made themselves believe.
She never knew for sure if he would come back whole or alive at all. She liked to think that someday while they were a masterpiece of intertwined limbs and glowed with passion, she would just sink into him and become a part of his entity. There, she could embellish him in light, hunting his shadows and dispersing them with a valiance that he would surely be proud of. She could set his soul ablaze with her adoration.
He tried not to think of the way her hair glimmered in the sunrise while he was away, tried to ignore the itching in his fingers to touch her waist, her anything again. He had an undying need to be with her, to become a part of her, to lose himself in her. It terrified him, at times. There was something incomprehensible between them. It couldn't be calculated, uttered, imagined, but it was there, and he kept an unrelenting grip on its allure.
They were falling so fast.
It was never too fast, though. They lived lives of uncertainty, of quick decisions, and they didn't know how long this uphill battle could last. But as he gripped onto her and whispered saccharine nothings in her attentive ear and she kissed his blushing cheek, they believed at that moment in the concept of forever, infinity, and everlastingness. They were there, they were one, they were losing in a game that everyone played but lost at.
They told themselves over and over (and over and over) again that this wasn't about love, or lust, or need, or want.
It was about losing, falling, and hitting the concrete with a sigh of satisfaction. And when they were finally lying broken on the floor, their hands were still entangled, their minds were still wrapped around one another, their hearts were still on the nightstand.
Or so they liked to believe.