The Past is Far From Fiction
I know what you mean about the past and Mr Proust, but the past is far from fiction, especially where you are concerned. When I first saw you, I crept thinking that you could see through my eyes, my soul aglow from the heat searing through me, sweat sipped through my pores.
I held my breath from the fear that you could hear the hastened sound of my heart’s beat.
Chastened, blown away, should I have stayed.
To flee would only leave me…