Finally, the heartache was a disaster,
your eyes my history,
a hostage soul with your memories,
my poetry lost,
all your letters the soul.
now none can describe your eyes,
neither can I,
having known for infinite years,
I forgot you, your everything,
even the easy tantrums —
filling your white canvas,
or my colours splashing against yours.
when I was asked about you
all I could think of were those times I was with you,
blurred vision of how we were.
now all I could say was,
he was a stranger I’d known so long
. I smiled, knowing this will be the end of the string
that pulled deeper,
but pushed away deeper, like you.
now dear, where are we?
are we lost? is this string between us still an ache?
I wished so, I wished for the ache —
because the ache is you,
and I would love to have it, even far away.
I smiled with my grey hairs and wild wrinkled face,
can you believe with an ache I never forgot you,
I never forgot the young you.
it reminds me of the youth I embraced,
of the time I dressed in delusional fashion,
thinking of the times your cheeks against mine,
dancing like evergreen.
remember — but how,
when all I could be with you is being near the grave built for you.
even now I would love to have the ache,
yet my fingers never stopped, writing you.
be with me please, I love you.
sadly, it came through pens
, not through my lips,
yet this peace gives me bliss