…and your absence is the strongest scent in the air.
I want to love you…
but only the terrible
would bring us close, the mercy of chance,
a death, the room collapsing, a blindness.
Rather than that, i sit and watch you talk,
with hopes impossible as your lies.
I couldn’t have spoken like this yesterday, because when we’ve been apart, and I’m looking forward to seeing you, every thought is burnt up in a great flame. But then you come; and you’re so much more than I remembered, and what I want of you is so much more than an hour or two every now and then, with wastes of thirsty waiting between, that I can sit perfectly still beside you, like this, with that other vision in my mind, just quietly trusting it to come true.
My desire will see, shadowed among the embers, furled in flame, the splendor and the sadness of the world.
I am left alone; you in Persia, horizons away. Dearest Creature, my heart currently resembles the ashes of my cigarettes.
You make me nostalgic for a love that hasn’t even happened yet.
We mourn in a place no one knows;
it’s right that our grief be unseen.
I love you as if you’ll return
after years of absence.
As if we’d invented
We are torn between nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange. As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never known.
I didn’t know how to belong.
Longing? Yes. Belonging. No.
Things have dropped from me. I have outlived certain desires; I have lost friends, some by death… others through sheer inability to cross the street.