fuck, i miss you so much and there’s nothing i can do about it
You have scarcely left, but I feel as though you’ve been gone for so long.
My heart aches for you, for your love. My eyes wet.
You are gone, and I’m alone, without you.
My, you have been gone for so long now. I watched you distances yourself from me. You didn’t look at me, you didn’t see me for so long.
I held you in my arms and you slept, unaware of me curled against you like a child.
I’ve been so lonely for you, my love. I’ve missed you, though you’ve only scarcely left. Your soul wandered away long ago. I’ve missed you, though you’ve scarcely left, and now you are gone.
The night is so infinite and long without you. The wind whistles and the trees sway and I wonder if the darkness could swallow me away. I wish it would, I wish to fall into it.
I did not say goodbye. I did not wish for you to go. But, I’m alone now, and my heart aches for you to return.
Aching, aching, aching. I’ve ached for so long to see the glimmer of love in your eyes. To touch me when I did not first touch me. To kiss me before I kissed you. To hear your love float from your mouth to me once more, as it once did, as it use to float to me from the mountains and the stars and the salt of the sound.
Perhaps I do not love you anymore. Perhaps Neruda and I, we do not love you anymore. But he’s right, oh how I loved you. Oh, how I love you. How I once was able to love you.
But, no love is allowed any longer. The door has closed and I must not knock.
But, oh, how I long to knock and for you to see me once more, as you did. As you once saw me.
It seemed so long, it seemed that it would go on.
You’ve scarcely left. I miss your warmth.
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight .
Write for instance: “The night is full of stars, and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance.”
The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved him, and sometimes he loved me too.
On nights like this, I held him in my arms. I kissed him so many times under the infinite sky.
He loved me, sometimes I loved him. How could I not have loved his large, still eyes?
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. To think that I don’t have him. To feel that I’ve lost him.
To hear the immense night, more immense without him. And the poem falls to the soul like dew to grass.
What does it matter that my love could not keep him. The night is full of stars and he is not with me.
That’s all. Far away, someone sings. Far away. My soul is lost without him.
As if to bring him near, my eyes search for him. My heart searches for him and he is not with me.
The same night that whitens the same trees. We, we who were, we are the same no longer.
I no longer love him, true, but how much I loved him. My voice searched the wind to touch his ear.
Someone else’s. He will be someone else’s. As once he belonged to my kisses. His voice, his light body. His infinite eyes.
I no longer love him, true, but perhaps I love him. Love is so short and oblivion so long.
Because on nights like this I held him in my arms, my soul is lost without him.
Although this may be the last pain he causes me, and this may be the last poem I write for him.