In the death of your eyes

I

She is radiant/hermetical to her nothingness. We stopped by the lake. Everything was quiet there-I've felt it- quiet and irrational, misshaped in his eyes ; the lake.

I've never really planned on being here with him, making it so easy, so easy for him and his breathing whom I've felt alternating in flashes of irregular thoughts. BUT I had a knife, as always. I won't make it that easy for him.

His skin was recognizable, every inches detailed by time's landscapes markings. In the back of my neck; his hand.

''I know this wind'' he says. ''The smell of it on the tip of my finger''. Why can't I recognize you? I thought. You are everyone in this moment.