He's like Disneyland, she thinks sometimes. She went there once, a long time ago, and he reminds her of it: All those different attractions, each more wonderful than the last, where you can learn a bit of history or envision the future or laugh with the costumed characters or just ride brightly-colored rides and sing along with sappy tunes and gasp with delight at the fireworks. Everything is ideal, pristine, impeccable service with an ingratiating smile, lackeys scurrying everywhere to scoop up the tiniest bits of trash, to straighten a bow or garland shifted askew by the wind or a careless passerby, to correct anything that violates the standard of flawlessness.

The Happiest Place on Earth.

He's a lot like that, the Immortal. Everything about him is just right.

He always smells good. Even his sweat excites her palate like sweet liqueur. Or like perfection, distilled.

He doesn't smell of mist and marsh, or blood and leather and cigarettes.

He buys her beautiful, frivolous shoes that make her legs look fabulous, and rubs her throbbing feet after she's danced the night away in them.

His hands and voice don't tremble when he tends her scrapes and cuts. He always neatly wraps the ice in a towel, so the melt won't trickle down her back.

He's easy to be with, relaxing in so many ways. He understands everything because he's seen everything - he's lived forever, and will live forever. He knows how to make her feel young again.

He never makes her sad, or angry. He never worries or exasperates her.

He's without peer in the bedroom, a master of ecstasy so practiced and sure that she barely has to do anything save ride the superfluous pleasure, giggling and shrieking on the waves like a novice surfer.

He never comes before she does.

Yes, he's a lot like Disneyland. A magnificent construct, satisfaction guaranteed.

This time, she will be the one to leave.

Disneyland is a nice place to visit, but she can't live there.

you have to go on living / so that one of us is living

She'll wake, soon, and say goodbye, without a backward glance.