display | more...

People would stop to hold their hands. Heavy weight placed on sleek fingers. I count slithering snakes, maybe as many as seven, all bound to your eyes. I know that the words we have spoken have seemed less and trivial. And I know that the happenings we have taken part in have passed too fast. We made love in a cold room by candlelight and only the moon watched us move. I was caught in a moment without time and meaning, only the warmth of your body.

People would stop to hold their hands if they could answer the essential questions to what fills all, to what fills everything that is nothing and forces us to become more. I know I spent hours looking at your hard face and almost threatening you into telling me if you understood. In the end, I did. You still would provide no answers.

Realize now, that this is an ode to a memory going to be forgotten. Understand this; I shall not answer to questions given, because you will never even be able to do the same. I owe you nothing of the sort.

All which remains: stale sheets, broken candles and some smothered old letters which will only make you cry. My own eyes are dry now, having forgotten your name.

Distance would never have bothered me this much, but it had to be the distance of your heart.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.