The Sink Was Full Of Fishes

"And so, why should it be that desire cannot last forever?"
"Well, I didn't say so...it might but.. but I think it's a rare eventuality..."
She got darkened down: she realized she shouldn't have started that conversation.
"Are you telling me you're gonna get tired of me then? Do you wanna put me in red alert dear?"
With those words Jill had flipped upon and down the fears she had, that were regarding his probable getting tired of her: and with his intelligent break in he had showed her how it were useless and captiosous to fill her own head with images and situations of a future she couldn't know, because it were unhappened.
"Forgive me Jill: sometimes I just fall in delerium..."
"Angel, I do get you: I know the biggest a feeling get, the biggest arise the fears linked to it, because everyone knows to be vulnerable at the sufference that it'd derive from a break-up.I have your same fears, and I see that, in a way, it's better so: if we have the same fears, it means our feeling's the same too, and this should protect us from that sufference, don't you think? now let's get back home my love..."
He was so in tune with her, he seemed to share her own soul, indeed. Jill, so close to a dream she might have he seemed fake.But he was real instead. What love for him had produced in her brain, asked Melania to herself?
He was capable to make her feel unassured about everything, and at the same time aware of all universal laws; sure about the future, as long as unable to get anything for endless moments. All that she knew was the feeling she was sensing for him was a prime experience: she hadn't felt anything like that before, and she didn't want to feel it twice for nobody else, after Jill.
"Yes, we have to get back home... it's evening by now..."
Clouds didn't show that day over London, and Melania found sky colours ineffably languishing : "Why at my top of happiness do I have to feel a bit sad?" she asked to herself, mute: "And why do I find impossible everything's gonna permane this perfect?"
Her hand in Jill's one was cold nevertheless summer heat, and she was despising herself for having those thoughts, for being unsatisfied of paradise even, for being in need of takin a mental parachute along herself even in the middle of her love flight, in such a magnificent sunny day of August.
She was feeling like Ikarus.
Waiting for wax to melt.