tides have turned and the ocean has released its mounds of blackened water,
soaring against the sky to fit back the million broken pieces, that’s when,
that’s when I will remember your name and call you by it. When all the white
horses have broken free of mankind’s thoughts and are no longer held by the
reins; that’s when you’ll become visible to me, right in front of me at the
glade of dead trees and the old ruins of a church long gone. Its bell still
the sky beckons to the ocean screaming its ancient heresy in true words,
steaming angrily and catching breath on broken birds’ bones, that’s when you’ll
take my hand by the dead trees’ glade and I’ll feel your touch. Forgotten is
yesterday and idle puns hurled at me; dead girl, dead girl, dead girl, we know
your darkness. But only you have ever even known a single fragent of what I
I fear for
the fragment whose key you hold and whose lock you have built and whose doors
you have stroked and whose walls you have steadied. I fear for your heart as
you are so soft and tender, and the love which coats all your dreams and always
has been doing so is akin to the beating of a newborn animal’s heart.
You are the
epitome of an innocence completely independent and willing. It is the sheer
force of the impact of your voice that renders landscapes, visions and
dimensions of fear unable to move and unable to speak. Caught in a room with
me, all shadows trail carefully and swiftly to my feet and turn to the shapes
of my nightmares. I am disaster, painful betrayal and wistful hoping for another chance, which I cannot grant.
world hits on the catch where it shall and never will pass further, things that
have always been made undone will disintegrate and dissolve. What has never
meant anything to anyone and never bore even a sliver of vividness will shed in
a moment, gone. At last, all shadows turn to grey and crumble to dust. I’ll be
thus, as the sky consumes itself under the verge of a dying ocean, and a shore
full of rotting seashells. I wonder where noise, where sound, where the
laughter of life has gone to, but I know with truth that all living is
swallowing itself. As in an act of pride, the sun and the moon parade for one
last time, meeting on a half point and uniting in a flash of stained light.
revelation is to be expected, should grip my soul. But I become void of all.
Even darkness leaves me now, but a thin sheet of tears trailing the ground. If
I could feel still, I’d feel you approaching from the abyss of destruction.
You’d have wings if there were any left in the world. You’d have the most
wonderful clothing ever made by humans, but now even the fabric of reality is
torn. Pearls would envy you for your skin, as if you were made of snow. And
your hair may contain a thousand autumns, should they ever happen anew. What
wouldn’t you be if there were anything left to imitate, to become, to belong
It is the
dawn of the last thought I wish to have conjured, knowing you are indefinitely
more and even less. Wanting to go back to all the years lived, wanting to reach
out to you there, to hold your empty eyes for a second eternal. All you are is
all I once was. And all I was to become is what you were. In the falling of the
last second left, I know I will never have to be forgiven, and I turn my face
to yours, to whisper your name and to cry for your heart, finally whole.