The ghosts of past loves wallow in our need to return. You can not go back. Every moment we are another. But the kiss, the caress, hug and bite and, for a moment, that moment where we surrender to this need, is silent chaos. For a moment the predictable and volatile disappears. We return them to the past. And here we lie, comfortable, satisfied, without being challenged. In an illusion.
The ghosts of past loves lurking in novelistic moments, moments of absolute strengths or weaknesses, we know that the beginning of the fall of any empire or movement is at its best.
The ghosts of past loves and sniff away, having located the moment in question, jump on the prowl. Sometimes we give them battle. Sometimes we give to them. We rarely find, another to another, as two buddies who do not return to the past but floating in the present.
try not to give in to that need. A not felt in every caress caresses I gave him long ago. A not listen to her moans groans of the past, sweetened in times of loneliness. I try to recognize it as another. And celebrate that.
But I can not.
We were alone in the kitchen of the office and I can not help it. I get lost in it.
smile. "I missed you .- I whisper.
As, yes, as in idealized past me first go back to my seat to anyone in the office suspected.
I get the unjustified enormity of life that is the big spam. Discover my complacent smile. "You cunt who put old coffee machine, right? While swelling.
lift my coffee cup at him. -No is told a lady .- old challenge, and took a drink.
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