The Winter of Neglect

What colour is agony? All the love in the world could not keep her alive, and you must forgive me. Had her will to live already died, long before?

Today, the ache of not being able to touch you cuts so deep. Tell me—how is it that even a person drowning in love can become enslaved to another's touch? A twisted desire, where no one else is real but her. So why argue over who is truth and who is fiction? You will gain nothing from it; because her truth keeps murdering me.

My chest, stirred by long sighs, is wrapped in some vague obscurity—it knows nothing of the terrible fate ahead, cares nothing for completion. This winter held another nightmarish evening in wait for me—imaginings immersed in the forbidden allure of violent snowfall, they come to dance before my face and mock me. But I don't bear this humiliation; instead I endure your neglect, continuously, and still I haven't left you.

Give me your smile, I beg you. Take this wound away, let me have some portion of meaningless joy; hiding all the sorrow... I come here seeking you, and your gaze, your gentle touch—they heal the pain in my body.

I am confident, I will surely be able to build within your soul a world full of love—a world that reflects your very being. Only then can this place be thought of as nothing less than paradise itself.

Do you know why people wait for someone? And yet when sudden sleep breaks in the middle of the night, I want to ask—why this waiting? I cannot even find myself these days... how will I find you?—I lied. I lost you in such haste, and right then I brought the cup of poison close to my lips.