I don't hurt you. You are hurt by the beauty of the little good things we forgot to do when there was a reason to do. The silence hurts you, in which we breathed unevenly to find a secret meaning. The memory of my dream hurts you, in which someone moves away among the clouds of thousands of fireflies and haunts you…still! Your left shoulder hurts, because it is my possession. The sun hurts you, because it touches me differently, in foreign worlds. The blue-green on the winter sea, hurts you, as not shared, and to you, it is dying alive! They are hurting you ahead--- sunsets and all the past moons with the merry full moon. The irises of your eyes hurt to their brown bottom, darkened in the fog on ordinary days and empty nights. The morning hurts, in which with someone else I will share my coffee after a night of revelation. The words hurt you, which you failed to sort in exquisite verses… to give them immortality, and to make me weep with them. The songs hurt you, which I did not finish so beautifully for you. Your thoughts hurt, taught to become ours, after the other has already said them. Your body hurts, because it remembers things more than memory, but I've learnt how to be silent. The sad directions of your heart hurt, dare not to shout--- a goodbye... …never forever. And all these silent bells under this desperate sky--- don't hurt me any more, neither do you...ever!
