An event horizon is the boundary of a black hole, you said, the region from which no escape is possible.
A scientist and physician, you filled my head with Doppler shifts and DNA helices. When we fought, we collided like tectonic plates. But always I'd
return, unable to resist your gravitational pull.
Until the day they found you in the theatre corridor with pupils so small that all the light had escaped. They resuscitated you with naltrexone. That’s the antidote for morphine.
I’ll never do it again, you promised.
So I ignored the fermenting scent of your breath, ignored the torpid calm that fell over you when you had fentanyl floating through your veins – because for a short time, I had you back.
I should have known what would happen when I fell for a supernova.
There’s no escape from a black hole. I’ll forever fall into your infinite curves.