The Seal of Sorrow

So your so-called better option has left. That's it, isn't it? Nothing's coming to mind anymore, you can come now. I won't hate you—but surely I'm allowed this distance? This much freedom must be mine. Thinking of you was my greatest mistake.

I believed in the rhythms of a poem kept for me deep in your eyes—an endless tear-light flowing without sound! It was all a lie. I pity myself even for believing it. How much did I mock myself in the madness of loving you!—there was never any need for this.

I loved the trace of regret in your voice; your breath whispered against my ear with such profound thought...I was your favorite embrace.

—Why do I return to these things? This realization comes back each time I write our moments, keeping safe the longing of your touch—and still, why is my fate so treacherous?

Did you ever write a single word about me?—How could you? Does feeling ever turn toward the sacred work of creation for just anyone? Have you ever heard of such a thing?

Though I'm not troubled by that. My curiosity circles only this—"Who are you to me? Why can't I forget you?"

This 'you' is not a form of address—from this moment you are a stranger in my eyes; someone I never truly knew, someone I'll never care to know.

Love and hate are two sides of the same coin. When this coin stops spinning, love becomes sorrow. Love touches infinity only then...when this coin never stops, when it spins on and on without end.