The Untouchable Scent

You only look at me awhile with wet eyes. When you wanted to make this body's wound somewhat your own—I couldn't refuse; you were so much of me.

The day you left for the land of no return—I cried out loud that day, piercing and raw. My face twisted with that keen sorrow you didn't even turn to see. What rush was driving you so?

That's when I understood: in this world, no one is ever chained by love's bonds. Why couldn't I follow you then? Am I so steeped in sin?

A nightmare—it stole our beautiful moments with such cunning stealth. How are you? You had so much to say, yet you cut off all word and line, threatened me with silence, swore you could never leave me—and always, always came back!

I thought, where else would you go? What place was there for you to go to?—I had to prove myself a liar? Now you've truly severed the thread? Now you rest easy?

I no longer hold love close to my chest, I don't touch beauty, I don't watch anyone's performance whole. These days it's the scent of your hair that keeps me awake.

You yourself said you'd write every day—because the contract was unwritten, did you feel free to leave no trace behind? How can you be so offended? Tell me?

I'm making you a promise—I won't hurt you anymore, won't make you cry. I've never seen such tenderness in anyone's eyes for me as I see in yours...You know, half my diary still, every day, I fill with thoughts of you.