Climax

It’s not the rush of the beginning, not the slow burn of the middle,

but that breaking point—

where hands slip, breaths hitch, and silence speaks louder than love ever did.

Climax.

Where the heat don’t warm, and the touch don’t heal,

where we stand on the edge of something we swore we’d never fall from.

Where your name don’t taste the same,

where my voice don’t carry weight,

and yet—

we hold on like the past can rewrite the present.

See, we were something.

A wildfire, a whisper, a slow dance on a fast track to forever.

But love, real love—

ain’t just about the way you pull me close,

it’s about what you do when the distance ain’t measured in miles,

but in misunderstandings, in unspoken goodbyes.

And now, here we are.

At the peak, the pinnacle—

but tell me, what’s a climax if there’s no resolution?

If the fall feels inevitable,

if we both know the drop is coming,

but we still pretend the view from the top ain’t just a fleeting illusion?

Tell me, what’s left after the high fades,

when passion turns past tense,

when love is a language we both forgot how to speak?

No turning back now.

No rewinding, no replay.

Just echoes of a song we never learned to finish.

And baby, ain't that the cruelest thing?

To reach the height of it all,

only to realize—

we ain’t never coming down together.

This is it.

The final breath before the fall.

The last note before the silence.

The climax.