I wanted to write something about you,
before I start forgetting-
who you were,
who i was with you,
how we lived,
and how we learned how to not live,
how we felt the extremes of helplessness,
with each other.
But I do not want to be the only voice actor
in this otherwise silent movie.
I could never read your lips.
I never moved mine.
But it should have been enough.
You convinced me that I would be enough for you.
But as I suspected you knew too little of yourself.
As I knew, my love also had limitations.
We hated what we saw in each other.
So you covered your eyes with anger,
I covered mine with fear.
And all we did for years is to sing to each other
about the loneliness that we had gifted each other.
If only we could give up on ourselves earlier,
we may not have suffered so bad,
we might not have hated each other so much.
I wish what we had was something shallow.
But it was not, our wounds are proof of that.
Lets just say that we would live on just fine
and try to believe in that as long as we can.