"I gotta know tonight/ If you're alone tonight/ Can't stop this feeling/ Can't stop this fire "
You walked away
from me
from life
and so I never kissed
or touched
or loved again.
I was the Heathcliff of the story
the protagonist of which is dead.
So I had to unearth the body
and kiss it one more time, bereft.
You walked away
and yet I know exactly where you are –
you have an address, a mail box even –
the little cross behind your grave.
I’d visit every day,
I’d sit there with my blind man’s stick
I’d poke the muddy, wormy earth above you
- so easy, I just have to dig you out
and I’d be able to see
again.
I was no Heathcliff though, I didn’t do it
after all.
Instead, I decided in a dream
to write the most beautiful love poem
the world has ever seen,
to keep you warm
in your darkened bed under the cross
until I join you in the world of death, togetherness and frost.
I started scribbling
the words I used to whisper in your ear –
the most gentle witnesses that my love for you is real.
But nothing sounded beautiful enough to me
and nothing struck me as the right word/
gesture/
deed.
You walked away
from me
from life.
Three years passed,
I’m still scribbling.
Tonight
however...
suddenly I realized –
the most beautiful love poem...
..............................
it is I –
the epos of my body,
the lyric of my soul –
the fact that I did never
love
or touch
or kiss again -
after all this time
I love you even more…
"Hysteria when you're near"
Hysteria... even when you're gone