Knew it was the first time

I’d met anyone like her

And also the last time

I ever would.

Stressed by second-guessing

During every subsequent encounter

Certain I was wrong,

Was blinded by the light of sunshine at midnight.

But like a movie with a frame story,

A Rose-talks-about-Jack device,

Reminders of the inevitable beginning

Resurface towards the end.

Something so perfect it must be ignored

Lest it interfere with indecision,

That addictive in-between sensation

Wanderers wield like a pointy shield.

Though just as it takes a star several years

To reach a point where we can see it,

Eventually the doubts of alternative routes

May converge in a surge of prorated payouts.