It was in a room without walls and without ceiling where we shared our warmth on a couch lying together.

"What if I could only love you for a day?"

"Why?" she asked. "Why?"

I tapped my heart.

"There is a certain wildness in here, that cannot survive the civilities, the trivialities and responsibilities of formal love and conventional marriage. Perhaps it isn't to be."

She rested her head on my shoulder.

"I can kiss you in all the places that hurt; the wounds bleeding, the wounds bled and dried, the wounds over wounds, the new scars, the old scars, the scars reopened."

She traced the shape of my lips with her fingers.

I pecked her on her cheeks and tasted her tears. She said it hurts less. But she cried more.

After a little while, she spoke. "I know you love me. Thank you."

"Is it a silly name I have?" she asked.

I considered it for a moment. "No. It's beautiful. It's real and true."

"Why?"

I shrugged and gave my boyish smile.

She frowned for a moment. Finally. Laughed. "You talk like this often?"

Her eyes were twinkling when she asked the question. Alive. Bubbling.

I shrugged again. While she laughed again. Happily. And she tugged my heart. A pang. Of which I could not explain. And I thought I felt rather old.