subjective processing

You loved me in fantasies, I loved you in landscapes; you saw me in paintings, I saw you in crisp photographs. You said that whenever I kissed you, you saw swirling colors behind your eyes--it was magic, I was magic, somehow. But whenever you took me in your embrace and laid your lips to mine, I saw you--with my eyes closed, I saw your strong arms encircling my body, the sweat on your supraorbital ridge; I pictured how your fingers looked as you clenched them into a fist around the worn cotton of my shirt. I saw you in sketched, animated lines, in real images beyond my shut eyelids. I sensed you with all my senses--you were real.

And for some reason, for the longest time, we still worked.