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You an undiscovered continent. A land that hasn’t been charted. And in a way, for me, the world.
‘Grief that you will cause. Someone you will be with. If you could see it, would it deter you? Or would you be willing to take the risk, test the prophecy?’
how precisely we know how to hurt the ones we love.
Unhappy together, but what if we’re unhappier apart?
You seem to be a woman to whom something is always about to happen.
You are pleasingly – not conspicuously – tall. As a child you must have been awkward, gangly, I’m certain of it, but not now, not any more. And if I were a poet I’d find a way to describe your body as it deserves to be. All that comes to mind is a tree, a cypress, whose leaves shimmer in the sunlight.
Some lovers left, bereft. Some stayed longer, because I was their secret too.
the young drink to die. Alongside raging life runs an urge to extinguish themselves. It has to be. There’s no other explanation for this hedonism.
You hold so much power in the palm of your hand. To walk away from this whenever you wish to. While I watch the bubble, and try so hard, on prayer alone, to keep it afloat.
I’ve come to believe that it’s harder knowing that the person you are no longer with is somewhere laughing, eating, sleeping… doing all these mundane things, and carrying on with life.
Perhaps it’s the only way to retain it. Love. To never have it happen. To love, otherwise, is always to lose. And isn’t it true?
I am oriented only by your presence, or your absence. You are my north.
