lethal radish
Among hundreds of love poems,
there are thousands of love phrases
that stretch into thousands more words of love.
Among hundreds of love poems
that my soul dared to spill onto paper
through ink,
there are feelings
eternized on the page,
etched by the rhythm of a cry
that froze in time.
Among thousands of love phrases,
there are the beautiful ones,
like:
“I long to be your heart;
within it, you would find your own refuge.
I would be the one who loves you
and is loved—
without fear,
it would be us against whatever the world once was.”
And there are others
that are also part of love.
Franz Kafka, one of my favorite writers, once said:
“I no longer love you, and that is certain…
but perhaps I love the pain of having loved you.”
In contrast, I write to you:
“If one day I no longer love you, know that it is because I withered.
And if you do not love me today or tomorrow,
know that I love the pain of loving you today,
for all eternity.”
This too is part of love,
no matter how painful,
no matter how senseless it may seem.
After all, wasn’t love meant to be
that gentle river
that carries two people—
two souls and bodies—
to touch
and be destined
to belong to one another?
Ah… that idea is so sweet,
but reality is fleeting.
Sometimes when I think of you,
I realize:
I wanted, so desperately and so obviously,
to love and to be capable of loving
that I forgot the true nature of romance.
To you,
my most beautiful tragedy,
my most real feeling.
Among thousands—perhaps millions—
of words of love I told you,
I swear:
the most important,
the most beautiful,
and now perhaps the most frightening,
was:
“Thank you.”
I said that
when you freed me from demons
I could never have faced alone,
bound in their chains.
I said that
when you made me so happy
that I felt the need to thank you.
I said “thank you” so simply…
I remember you even asked:
“Why?”
And I said:
“It’s nothing.”
But I lied.
I said “thank you for everything” in the end,
when you said:
“It’s over.”
I said “thank you”…
not because it ended,
but because you showed me
that I am capable of feeling,
of being alive,
of writing these hundreds of pieces
that would never find you in such a beautiful way.
Thank you
for being you
on every day
we were us…
Thank you for letting me love you.
Even if the price of truly loving
is never loving again.
Thank you…
I will
love the pain of loving you.
I promise
As my final act of love.
fresh hound
formal atlas
jolly hill
earnest dome
worn idol