Somethings Never Leave, Even After Separating. “What will remain when I depart?” asked Love, as we sat one afternoon pondering over our separation, though neither of us had courage enough to stand, turn his back to the other, and leave. “Oh, I’ll have a lot, worry not. I’ll have to myself, solely- grief, sorrow, tears, that will fall and stain my carpets red, for, when knives plunge, they seldom draw out colorless tears,” replied I, though not so confident. I continued, “I’ll be bestowed, in my solitude, with as much as I would need, to etch in this heart and thus, simultaneously, on these black sheets (which were white, your question ago) write lore upon lore of a vaccuuminous existence.” “And then, to me you shall come as if you never left- a separated kin- for even as I was writing I was in the company of what I love, nothing more and when you present yourself to me, I shall realize, that you actually never left.”
Posted on: Sun, 20 Apr 2014 08:27:14 +0000
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