If Only

“The liquid syncopation of two blood flows falling into line,” she explained, in one sympathetic breath, “is a love that few people find.” As the hours grew into days, those words echoed without end; a delicately placed sentiment with a strength not yet summoned. Perhaps she had seen the secrets that lay dormant beyond the walls of reason, safe and protected within the womb of yet another fleeting season. Perhaps I had heard the rumors whispered by the faceless tenants of suspicion’s secluded shelter, who desired nothing but repentance. Perhaps our path had been decided and, although we could see no light, the darkness was already behind us, beyond the veil of that eternal night. If uncertainty is the plague that ails me, regret must be the contagion that multiplies inside. Because two blood flows falling into line is a bond that no power can divide. If only I could have shown her the uncharted realm of true sedation, maybe then we could have walked together towards the warmth of tomorrow’s revelation.