She spoke like a dreamer.
Each line pulled me towards her, towards the words. I folded the moment, the space, and everything between us. I moved through the chairs, the tables, the humans, like a spirit passing through to some other side.
I knelt before her at the base of the stage, and pulled my chest apart. The separation of skin, muscle, bone, and fat was clean. I was Superman tearing apart my shirt to expose the only immortal thing I have—my heart. Nothing steal, just a spongy thirsty heart, waiting.
The words breached her lips and poured inside me like a Vintage Port. She threw a black rose at my bended knees; and said the last line.
“Come with me my love. It’s time.”