While It Lasted

 A thing isn't beautiful cause it lasts,

it's beautiful cause it has an end. Like your strands of hair that end at your shoulders, each one a soft descent into stillness, like your lips that end on mine, a quiet punctuation to thoughts that we keep to ourselves, like your words that tangle and fade, as you fall asleep on my chest, half dreams, half confessions, all of them fleeting, all of them real. Your touch isn't timeless, it’s trembling, temporary, your fingertips as they trace my skin, they adjust and reach for my hand. And maybe that’s why, I hold these moments like glass, fragile in their beauty, perfect only because they pass. Let it end, then not with despair, but with the joy of the moment, with the understanding that it truly was beautiful while it lasted.