We sit at dinner, she across from I, she beside her, she demanding, her obliging, I laughing.
We sit, I staring, she laughing, her wondering.
We sit, I gazing, her adoring, she existing.
We sit, she glancing, her peeking, I falling.
We sit, I descending, she embracing, her indulging.
We sit, and I am lost forever in the depths of her eyes.
There are some times that I look at Erin and I have to wrench myself back to the world, so absorbed am I, trying to mold my consciousness into something resembling hers so that I can experience what she does. She is like a point of infinite mass, drawing everything to it with an irresistible force, and I am carried along.
She stands out against the background of the world; she glows in the dark; her colours, brighter, and her laughter, clarion.
Such is her intensity, dimming the backdrop behind her, that it dims even my memory of her past.
How can she not always have been just as she is?
I remember, but as I look at her I don't believe. I have known her, as she is, always. I am lost forever in the depths of her eyes.