Some of the finest things in life are by definition, short-lived. What gives them character is the impending end. In a world where we constantly look for permanence, stability and happily-ever-afters, sometimes things with an expiry period have a lot of appeal. As I often do, I will resort to another man's poetry to capture the idea.
To make love with a stranger is the best.
There is no riddle and there is no test. --
To lie and love, not aching to make sense
Of this night in the mesh of reference.
To touch, unclaimed by fear of imminent day,
And understand, as only strangers may.
To feel the beat of foreign heart to heart
Preferring neither to prolong nor part.
To rest within the unknown arms and know
That this is all there is; that this is so.
To make love with a stranger is the best.
There is no riddle and there is no test. --
To lie and love, not aching to make sense
Of this night in the mesh of reference.
To touch, unclaimed by fear of imminent day,
And understand, as only strangers may.
To feel the beat of foreign heart to heart
Preferring neither to prolong nor part.
To rest within the unknown arms and know
That this is all there is; that this is so.
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