I am starting to believe that I finally understand it now. When we were together, there was a space we both filled. My hands came to rest upon your needed body. There is no better cure for the ache inside one person that can't be healed by a single touch.
We made each other warm and, in the afterglow of our silvered tongues and desperate yearnings, we opened up. But we were not friends, I do not think. We were never friends, not in the traditional sense. I think it happened when we looked at one another with something more than friendship. That is what murdered the faint echo of what could have been. We filled that space with the pulse of a devouring, ferocious thunder. You held it under your tongue and kissed it into me.