I suppose I jest simply because I don’t fear the end; absolute bliss fills me now and that’s all that matters. What good would it do me to mourn the loss of something so breathtaking to the point where my bereavement holds my breath inside of me, straps it to my being so it is incapable of departure, unable to be taken? Why would I rob myself of the chance to enjoy this moment, and the next and the next, just because the instant following would be the second I realize the euphoria has fled?

No! I will live in this moment, and disregard the next until it seizes me. I’ve protected myself as well as I can; the only vice I have yet to save myself from is the frustration that inevitably comes when one overanalyzes a situation. I don’t mind curling up on my bed, sobbing, completely horrified by the shattered remains of the balanced ecstasy I found in our delightful rapport; once the tears dry I’ll turn my head to look behind and realize it was beautiful while in existence.

So here it is: another vague tribute to the unnamable, another accolade to the element that sustains my elated contentment for but one moment more. My rapture enlightens me, opening my eyes so that I might allow myself to be blind, so that I might plow ahead and feel the angst that will shape me if I can keep it from crushing me.

Come now my love, placate me once more and promise never to forget me. There is no culmination needed here, after all, merely an adjustment. I await my changed life with that healthy fusion of fear and excitement that everybody understands, so smile for me and write and never forget all the times we’ve laughed together.