When the night was ceasing, we went outside and stretched our worn bodies on the pavement. Rendering ourselves vulnerable.
The ground I was lying on was cold, the person lying next to me was not.
'What were we at the dawning of time?' is what he asked me.
I thought about it for some time and then I thought some more. I thought for a long while and eventually gave him an answer, 'I don't know.' I said because I didn't know, all these seconds spent thinking and I didn't know, what was I? Was I even?
'What were you at the dawning of time?' I repeated his question aloud and, in my head, alike.
What were you at the dawn of time?
What were you at the dawn of time?
What were you at the dawn of time?
What were you at the dawn of time?
Maybe he already told me a reasonable answer, but I was too lost in my head to hear it. 'I don't know.' I heard him give my answer back to me and I asked again.
'What were you at the dawning of time?' as if caught by surprise he was quiet. He was startled and quiet. He was calm and quiet. Perhaps too quiet.
'Maybe we were the first.' he told me.
'Maybe we are the last.' He turned to me as I said this, I, too, turned to face him.
'Right now? How do you know there will be no tomorrow?'
I answered his question with one of mine, 'Is there a world after tomorrow?' he didn't answer me with a question, instead he said, 'I don't know.' and he didn't know, that's what I believed because that's what he told me.
What he told me was what made me. And what I told him, I don't know if it was what made him.
I told him about grey fields and ripe fruit, he could have been made of grey fields and ripe fruit; he could have been made of radiant gardens and worms.
That's what he wouldn't tell me and that's what I wouldn't ask him to tell me.
'Then yes, right now, we are the last.'
'That's ridiculous.' I looked at him; for him there was a world after tomorrow, for me there wasn't; that's what I wouldn't tell him.
I wanted to absorb him, every bit and piece of him molding with every bit and piece of me.
'Do you care?' We were made of each other. He had my eyes, and I had his. I had his shoulders and he had mine. He had my heart, and I had his. I was his soul, and he was mine.
'No.' he said he didn't care, and I hoped he didn't, I didn't care either and he knew because I kissed him.
I kissed him with his mouth, and he kissed me with mine. He kissed his soul with my mouth, and I kissed my soul with his. I was afraid to touch him, but I touched him.
The fragments of us wanted to reunite. That is what I did, I held him close to me and he held me close to him. We held one another so close that the fragments of me were now truly becoming a part of the fragments of him.
Were those my fingers or his?
Was he the one pulling at my waist or was it me?
We were the first and we are the last. It wasn't a matter of what we knew and didn't. My world started with his touch and his world maybe started with mine.
Maybe he will return here after I am gone, but I am selfishly hoping he won't.
His world was maybe mine, but my world was most certainly his.
We were the first to come and, if he doesn't come with me, I will be the first to go. If I went alone, he would start again, this time without me and I would not hold it against him.
He chose to go with me, after us there would be no more, it started with us and with us it is going to end.
We were one and he heard me, I didn't say anything and yet he heard me.
The universe was created to make us and be unmade, to be conquered, but not to conquer.
We were created to be made and to unmake, to conquer, but not to be conquered.
He held onto me and, I was sure. We were created and made at the dawn of time, we are conquering and being unmade at the dusk of it.
We were created to be made.
We were made to see the universe.
We were unmade to become it.
