Just A Moment in Time

Just a Moment in Time

He is not mine.

..nor was the last...

nor the one before him who lingered too long

in the corridors of my mind,

whispering sweet philosophies

like borrowed lines

from a book

we both forgot to finish.

You see,

no man is mine.

Not even the ones who touch my thoughts

with the gentleness of knowing.

Not even the ones who pull up a chair in my psyche,

sip slowly from the chalice of my intellect

and call it "communion."

We connect

yes.

Words like bridges.

Ideas like wine.

The buzz of thought,

shared in late-night dialogues,

our minds entangled in something

that feels like forever...

but always smells faintly of temporary.

And when they say,

"You're different..."

I smile like a woman who hasn't heard it before,

because I have been

the spark

in too many thunderclouds

to mistake a lightning flash

for something that stays.

He.

Is not.

Mine.

Not in body,

not in bond,

not in the way his gaze lingers

a second too long

on the architecture

of my knowing.

He is only passing through—

a traveler in the terrain of my thoughts,

leaving footprints

on pages I will rewrite

once he’s gone.

And that is beautiful, too.

The impermanence.

The echo after the laugh.

The warmth after the touch.

The silence

after the mind

has been seen.

No,

he is not mine.

No man is.

They are simply

moments in time

brief alignments

of thought and breath,

like stars that burn bright

then vanish...

before we can name

the constellation.

~tha Floetress