I Stop
One day
Soon
I will stop.
My heart will stop.
My brain will stop
This whirring contraption of ideas
Will stop.
My lungs, too.
My eyes will glaze over
In the horrified realization that it is all true.
One dies.
A furnaced breeze will ruffle
Through yellowed papers
And sepia memories
In the minds of others.
Until they, too,
Will stop.
To love a narcissist is to keep a wave upon the sand, to hold a moonbeam in your hand, the sound of music and your offered heart.
To love a narcissist is to gaze into your abyss, to darkly peer through glass, to refract in the liquid metal of the kaleidoscopic he, to weightless float adrift into his absence - and then be gone.