Love is Saccharine

Through the indelible memories burned from the soft light seeping through the crack in the door, I slowly felt her face rub gently against mine as I whispered the immensity of feelings within my heart.

Her love was saccharine -- a delicious type of somnolent sweetness engulfed within a bitter metallic aftertaste of indifference. I took solace in her incertitude, though.

I woke up alone the next morning. I spent an hour staring at the ceiling while wondering if she would remember me. I noticed that when one stares at anything long enough, it begins to fade into a hazy monochromatic fog. Is it symbolic of the heart? In that, if the heart were to love for too long or too passionately, would the feelings melt into a messy painful sludge of spent emotions? I closed my eyes and allowed myself to relive the memories once more. I saw her outline as the bedroom door slowly swung open. She came in and smiled at me and kissed my cheek. The air froze as time slowed itself to a careful and gentle pace.

"Do you still love me," I asked her.

"I do," she replied.

I whispered that I loved her, too.

"I know baby," she said while slowly disappearing.

Love is saccharine.