Traces of Emptiness

Sometimes you have to strangle feelings to death. Do you know why? The agony that comes writhing in such torment is far worse than the pain of voluntary death. Make me so callous that I lose the audacity to write about those unknown hours of your laughter gathered in the midnight darkness, those exuberant sounds stored in the wails buried deep in my chest; so from today, I abandon it all.

No matter what thoughts come to mind thinking of you, I will never again give them living form. Since you no longer want... then let everything remain dead—dead pain, dead feelings, dead happiness, lifeless indifference—these shall be my companions from today. Let all joy go to the numb crematorium.

Tell me, will I no longer live in you? My beloved, when life-thoughts are exhausted, does a person cease to live? As far as the eye can see... distinctly, I've seen the faint beckoning of my existence in the ribs of your chest; yet why does the yearning to have you keep growing, along with your haste to leave?

It's just as well—you've finally been able to show me my rightful place. If someday the meaning of this defeat changes, will you still hold me in your anger then? The less you remain mine, the more weary my welcome becomes.

I can't remember the last time I acted so foolishly—no matter how many times my eyes wanted to cry from the pain of trying to forget you, watching my insides being gnawed away... will this too never be told to you? Terrible resentment has possessed my mind; this resentment will perhaps never let me reach you again.

I wonder, does the death of all love happen through the death of feeling? Whether a parasite like me stays or goes will never matter to you. When you love, must you always take your leave so helplessly?

Love is such a thing—the scale of pain on one side always weighs heavier. I'm leaving with all my mistakes, and when some pain becomes words one day and falls, I know it will make me weep terribly in the midnight hours, yet I won't inform you of it and become a cause of unbearable annoyance. I promise.

Thank you for gifting me some of the best moments of my life. Truly, this house of my heart feels terribly incomplete without you. I too now want all the white birds of this house to be bloodied.

When you sometimes say you're annoyed with me, I cannot forgive myself; when you sometimes say you've been hurt, I cannot look into your eyes, cannot find the courage to say: don't misunderstand me.

Ha ha... you know what's amusing? When you love me... that is, when I feel love in your words or understand that your words have caused me pain, even then I don't have the power to write about you as much as I manage to, yet it happens anyway; though the tone of the two writings differs, the expression of feeling differs. But in all of it I want you, I find you alone.

Don't go, stay. If you leave, where will I go? Rather, let me live this way a little longer.