On this new morning, as this new cold finds my old bones,
I think of you.
Today when your name surfaces on the silent lake
I do not row towards it, I do not push it down.
I stare and breathe as the water moves
you and me.
I stare, without making my knuckles red,
without holding onto you or myself.
The mist of time and the storms of words-not-meant
they rise and settle and we part,
just as we rehearsed,
just as we have performed a thousand times in life.
I look back and see only a sunrise of a color you’d like.
I float a thank you, a broken oar towards you,
a hope for your life and some peace for mine.
All that I have loved has been eaten away by time.
Your body, your mind is now broken
into thousand scattered restless dots of dust
so when I think of you, in my mind
you are the life of the light. So unlike your presence in my life.
You remain that even as I lose my grasp
over the meaning and texture of love.
I forget what we were really like.
So I often get to miss you. You often make me smile.
The words are brittle
the ones they ask me to eat.
I was told this is how you forget
but it really doesn’t work.
It always leaves a mark on me,
claiming a bit more of me.
My throat would have shined,
would have dazzled the world,
if they could see the shards of glasses that
are stuck inside, that decorate my wind pipe.
Only I know how my voice and my hunger
makes its way out of this maze.
Like the thief in the movies
avoiding the lines of red,
I move within my body
afraid if what I might encounter next.
Next to this fear… words and speaking
and performing in front of this world
seems easiest part of existing.
My words pushed out into the world
are always wounded and broken.
And they lie on the ground,
in the hands that feel strange,
already losing half of their bodies,
their meaning already taking its last breath.
To speak is to see myself die in the hands of other
and yet be spared, only to live a bit more,
only to utter the next word.
Another piece of glass added to my collection.
Another drop of blood shimmering at its end.
We promise according to our hopes; we perform according to our fears.
― François Duc De La Rochefoucauld