There often comes a moment when two people realize that they've come to a crossroads.
She lies on the bed. Face inches from mine, bodies parallel, limbs intertwined. Beneath her eyes you can see faint lines, the lines which, in a decade or two, will wrinkle and droop and betray her youth. Lines nobody but me and her have seen. Her pores glisten in the overhead light. Tiny traces of makeup and sweat and soft microscopic hairs dot the contours of her cheeks and nose. Her eye makeup is meticulous. I wonder what she thought about as she put it on tonight. She is beautiful. For me.
Music from my laptop ambles on in the background, unnoticed and merciless, the only object anchoring us to time. Moments are hours and hours are moments. Smile meets smile. Eyes devour each other. For all I know, I had been lying with her my whole life.
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