It’s a good thing I’m not afraid of my own shadow. I would never be able to weather the black cloud overhead. The large and irregular opaqueness effected by it blocks any other shadows from forming, causing me to focus on nothing else – but it’s still mine. My cloud, my shadow, my life.

You were one to say that it’s not a cloud, it’s a cloud-shaped balloon, and if I were only to let go, it would float into the atmosphere, never to be seen again. You had never seen the forecast. You would laugh when we made love, while I worried about the future. It would disrupt my surface long enough to dispel the image, and your body against mine became all I saw and felt, became my destiny. You would sing to me, soothing my soul for the moment, our fingers interlaced in sensuous ecstasy, both of us drenched in fear and sweat.

I could have contemplated less, and lived more – but you were not my destiny after all. You are not here with me any longer. You would say the future is but a series of nows. I say each now is another now’s future, realized. We can choose which now we go to next, with careful contemplation. I chose compassion. You chose attrition. As often happens, we’re now just waiting for our bodies to catch up with our minds.

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