I dream of you Tyne-side beneath a sky grey, weeping–mourning. Your clouds stretch rain soaked arms across the Atlantic; dripping fingers tippety-tap, splatter against my bedroom windowpane. I awake, and I can smell your skin livened by the wet.

I recall the dank nighttime lit by streetlamps–we’d just gotten off the bus, and we were walking home from the drop-off. I pressed your body against a tall fence; I kissed you, and you kissed me back. I wanted you then, and there. Funny–that’s all I wanted…

Now you have yours, and I have mine; beautiful moments we have had since you and me with people who are not you and me.

Have I fulfilled my purpose in your life? Have you fulfilled yours in mine? Are we something other than twin flames?