The Habit of Loss

: I've made myself so alone. It feels wonderful! I still can't accept that I have to let you go; mentally I'm still there with you, though I can't explain why.

That I can speak all these thoughts of my heart to you so freely—have I ever been able to hold onto anyone's memory with such care? Living with memories is so hard; living with people is terribly easy, but I've left those people behind; pressing my ear to the depths of your heart, I've learned that one can live alone too.

Every time I've tried to fall in love with myself, I've searched for you instead, accepting a thousand defeats; thinking of you, I've written on faded paper the silent expressions of feelings that have stopped speaking.

Can you understand me? In this crowd of wounded time, I don't want anyone to ever stay beside me, to learn to understand me; yet I deeply want you to remain in my thoughts just like this a little longer. The intoxication of drowning in your spell hasn't lessened even today, hasn't lessened one bit—believe me!

: Why are you crying?

: These aren't tears; my feelings for you are still alive, which I'm unable to make you understand; I'm not foolish—I've actually wanted your touch, not contact. Can one keep oneself trapped in someone's affection by becoming emotionless? Can one see oneself reflected in someone's eyes, tell me?

Isn't it better to hide oneself from someone who never had time to understand me?