The One I Met

He has not known peace in a long time,
and his eyes often grow dark.
I know he belonged to someone, not to me,
and I'm jealous of her in secret…

I know he doesn't sleep at night.
Every dream is a purgatory of his fears.
Weeping in silence, but not outward—
tears are shed within his heart.

And he speaks endlessly, yet says nothing,
each time I come to him.
His silence turns me bitter.
I feel small and unnecessary.

He probably loves me,
though only for a moment, now and then.
Perhaps a day will come
when he will suddenly discover
that he loves another,
and she will be the woman worthy to bear
the burden of that sorrow,
nested behind his forehead where she made her home.

And he will tell her everything
for which I asked him without words.
From this moment on it burns and forges
my heart like an armour of ice.
It seems to have turned to stone,
and bears pain relentlessly,
but this time, as it has grown worse,
it will shatter early—even sooner.
And that's all.