I love you. What else matters?

Is there any more to say?

Note that I say ‘love’ and not ‘loved’.

Our lives would be so different

If our paths had not crossed;

We have formed our current selves.

 

I carry you with me;

Yes, I cling to a memory,

Fading away, I’m sure,

Though not quite disappearing,

And so never in the past.

 

But there is more to it than that;

A part of you inhabits me,

And, through slow depreciation,

That which remains is in me still.

 

So even should we feel disgust

And try to clean and scrub and purge

That last surviving piece away,

Our efforts will all be in vain.

Only time, and its consequence,

Can close this otherwise eternal

Story, this membrane of our lives.