Pictures inside my head,
Colour and I are one.
I am good at looking one way
And being another way,
Sometimes it’s just nothing,
A certain distance.
I suffer more from imagination.
Now I’m talking to you.
I think I know what that means,
We have lost sight of each other.
I am obliged to make do with words,
I can’t have you, I long for you.
Imagination and desire are very close,
An emblem of the loneliness of human life.
Everyone else isn’t you.
Grief does not pass away.
It takes its time and place forever.
It becomes a story within a story.
It is a hall of mirrors.
Here in my rooms,
I find absolutely nothing
In ordinary conversation.
I thought I could imagine
How much this would hurt.
I was wrong.
I shut off,
Which scares people sometimes.
When the time comes I must let it go,
Push for the stars.
I would so much like to see you,
Tell you my stories,
Hold your hand.