I know you're not a man of faith. But, clinging to you that night, covered in a sheen of sweat and barely able to breathe, you kept crying to God and, in the end, I thought that maybe you'd found Him again, if just for a moment.
We made love with the soft light of the bedside lamp on, not because I didn't want to bother turning the lamp off, but because I wanted to see and memorize every single aspect of your body that one time.
It was only that one time, but I wish we could've had more.