“It’s like we’re the same person!” she gasped and held her hands to her face, and then blushed. Her lover stood next to her, and she knew that she had whispered those same words into his ears the night before. She knew it meant absolutely nothing, and still this made her feel unfaithful. She had an incredible desire to be everyone and everything, while ceasing to be herself. Or perhaps to be like the wind, intangible and clinging to everything, feeling an orgy of skin simultaneously.

She tried to live accordingly. She made no distinction between people, and thus the idea of monogamy was ridiculous. Her desires made her a whore, and yet it felt so innocent because it had nothing to do with bodies or sex, it had to do with the idea of being God, which is perhaps far more evil.

She leaned towards me and said into my neck, “I would like to fade into the air,” but she leaned to far and fell into me. “Forgive me,” she said quietly.

I smiled. “Heavy lightness. It’s alright, I’m already broken.”