“It’s only time,” the words slip from your lips with a shrug and you watch Justin’s face soften as he hears them.

It’s only time, you think, pressing your face into his soft shoulder, breathing him in, taking in the taste of his skin, his lips, the scent of his hair, the feeling of his body underneath yours... you hold him close for those last few moments before he crawls out from under you, before he pulls on his clothes and picks up his duffel bag, before he walks out the door and slides it silently shut behind him.

It’s only time, you think, sitting on the edge of the bed that first night alone in the quiet loft, smoking and drinking and thinking about the sound of his voice as it reverberated through the phone line. Knowing that’s all you’ll have for weeks, months, years... who knows how long. You sit in the loft alone and stare at the wall and simply be alone. You’ve done that a million nights before in this place, but somehow you’ve forgotten how to do that now.

It’s only time, you think, the world spinning around you, seconds transforming into hours, the music beating endlessly... choruses thump on for years, songs for decades. You dance alone at Babylon and it feels like time has stopped, like the sparkles of confetti raining from the sky spin slowly in descent, like you can see each one as it passes through the air, catches in your hair, sticks to your skin, trails down to the floor. You close your eyes and let the music take you where you need to be, let the music stop your heart then start it again, let the music get in your head and reminisce for you, bringing back nights here of dancing with him, of kissing here and fucking here and feeling like you were the only two people on the dance floor. The Technicolor lights flash behind your eyes, the dry ice and smoke fills your lungs, the throbbing beats echo in your ears and you savour each one for hours... you let this place take you back to that first time and every time after that.

It’s only time, you think, and pluck a stray gray hair from your temple, wondering when it ever started to steal away like this. A wrinkle forms at corner of your eye and you consider Botox; you head to the gym and get on the treadmill, running your fears away.

It’s only time, you think, Justin’s soft mouth sucking the head of your dick, each lick drawn out forever, each swipe of tongue making your head swim, your heart stop. Minutes of riding the edge of orgasm that feel like hours, days, years. And then you come and it’s over in a heartbeat.

It’s only time, you think, and climb back on the plane that’ll take you away from Justin, the 48 hours spent with him disappearing in the blink of an eye, but the days and weeks until you see him again dragging by like eternities. You’ve already started subconsciously picking off the minutes till you’ll make the journey back to him again.

It’s only time, you think, sipping at the glass of wine, watching as it disappears too quickly from your glass, the night passing by in a flash, Justin smiling and eager to share his work, share his paintings, his brilliance. His art now bears slim resemblance to the sketches he did when you first knew him, and the expanse of his talent, the growth in his ability astonishes you until you realize that this maturity has come from age and experience and practice. It hits you that the years that got him from seventeen and line drawings to twenty-five and masterpieces have gone by far too quickly.

It’s only time, you think, and sit at home alone, waiting for his phone call. The minutes crawl on for hours, the second hand of your watch seemingly stopped as you stare it, waiting, needing, waiting...

It’s only time, you think as he steps off that plane and into your arms. You press his face to your shoulder, feel his warm breath against your skin, his body touching every inch of yours. You tell him to stay as long as he wants. As long as he needs.

It’s only time, you think as he moves back in, his life from New York filling the house, filling your world. His schedule fills up faster than yours, and he spends more time in his studio at the house than you do at Kinnetik. You find yourself whiling away time in the chair by the window, watching him paint. Those hours feel like long, lazy sunny days that never grow cold, just evolve into dark warm nights, the blanket of summer stars seeming endless and forever.

It’s only time, you think and push into him again, feel that tightness on your dick, always there too soon but never fast enough. He moans and laughs and comes into your hand, and you following quickly after, spilling inside him. It’s always fast-slow-fast with him, and you treasure every second of it.

It’s only time, you think and curl your arm around him, your naked bodies side by side in bed. His breath brushes softly across your chest, his fingers wrap around your side, and you hold him to you tightly. Time has disappeared; time has dragged on, sped up and carried on. Time has taken your youth and your health and your opportunity. Time has given you memories and happiness and success. You’ve wasted it, cherished it, spent it, saved it. You’ve tried to make it pass more quickly, filling your days with idle pursuits. You’ve tried to enjoy it, make it last forever, kept moments of it locked away in your mind to replay over and over and over.

Time has taken everything. Time has given you everything.

Time has brought you to this place.

It’s only time, you think and embrace it, empower it, make it yours. You kiss Justin’s hair and feel the warmth of his body beside yours, the satisfaction and love in your heart. It’s only time, but it’s your time now, and you intend on making every last second of it count.