The Confession

Could there be a perfect moment in time?
Let's rewind, counting the good points, to that
seemingly perfect night. Filled with sublime
words and phrases, longing looks, a combat
between the storm outside and the calm in
my heart. We stood in the downpour, nearly
wishing the sunshine never to begin.
The memory comes back much too clearly,
and other times fade away, a dim light
like never changing grey palettes. We think
it no more than a love in black and white.
The memory tainted on just the brink
of despair. Unchanged, imperfect in ways
that time is an unbeatable old maze.