They loved on a deathbed.

Rather,
their love was that of a deathbed love.

The chills were reciprocated,
the energies mirrored,
one heart pushed, the other pulled
as the stars crossed and coursed through their veins.
It was a love for memories of 
eras they both never experienced,
of words that articulately tingled the tip of the tongue,
of the inexplicable way two hands could possibly 
make contact at the palm,
but embrace at the soul. 
It was an erased-words love, 
one that never quite found the right words to describe itself,
but thrived in the slight smile that existed within 
each unworthy word that didn’t quite fit to limit it.

It was a love beyond seasons,
past nostalgia, in between the fingerprints of time -
a deserved love,
one that made sense.
It was an unrational love, 
one as provable and strong as faith itself; 
mad love,
too wise to be underestimated -
Old enough to have repeatedly held the other 
as tightly as one can possibly be held,
but young enough to be achingly confused 
as to how one can be in this position and somehow know 
that the other still isn’t close enough.

They loved on a deathbed, passionate and close. 
Rather, their love was on a deathbed, and at that critical moment, 
unsurpassably full of all the life a love could ever possibly contain. 
Rather, I shall still remain, that their love was that of a deathbed love, 
unsurpassably full of all the love a life could ever attain -
a love, protective care and admiration, meant to exist between two kindred spirits, twin minds, wrinkled fingers, and hairs that have watched each others’ colors bloom and fade over a lifetime. 
It was a foot-in-the-door-love, radiating all the opportunity to conquer the world together.
It was the type of old-young, restless-mature, learning type of love that almost made it a shame that they had the rest of their healthy, unscripted lives ahead of them.

Almost.

It is the love of two writers, 
that flourishes with all the flowers Shakespeare overlooked;
A love that understands by not attempting to. 
It is an untamable love, yet their love exclusively, 
circumstantial, unrecoverable, and ceaseless.

Their love was the poem they both longed to write:
 a love of two,

with one heart,
on separate paths, 

flickering in nearsightedness but

vivaciously burning in essence,
and ultimately, an irrevocably joint soul,
for I will always love you.