You are gone, my love
My heart is bleeding
Nothing of what I feel seems to be real. Slips quietly my body into the night and is abandoned to melancholy. Where are you my love, where? Will you be back? I climb the stairs, narrow is the heart. Meat besieges it, does not leave him respite. I sit near the window and the memory of you comes over me. I remember the two of us before sunset. I remember the wind ruffling the leaves and your hair. I remember you told me many nice words. Your eyes were shining. Ecstasy, madness ...." I will save you, I will save this world "
But my love you have stopped believing in fairy tales. You took up a gun and you went to war. Did you find your enemies? Or maybe there are only bodies and bones and blood....
On this chair I hold your words. "How sad it is here. Everything reeks of sadness."
Love, you have lost hope. Your tales are dead. They have dried your tongue of poet, they
shot to your soul and they crumbled your artistic bones. Bulldozers pull down houses and they kill with bombs. My love, did you really believed that this was the way?
I cry when I imagine your big mouth, wide open to sing stories, to sing of hidden forests and
beautiful lost girls... I smile for your slender fingers, ink-stained and your pointed nose, dirt of red and blue and green... you have painted. Haven't you, love? And there is no surprise when they knock on my door. Our door. I feel heart crumbling, but it does not hurt. It's like losing a nail already broken. It 'died when you left, now was dry and the breath of these blackbirds with false tears do nothing but crumble it. A long time passed and I realize that it's dark outside. I notice to be on my knees, to tighten your cap tightly to my chest . It's still dirty with your sweat. I feel your hair, soft, scented blacks. They have killed you, my love. They say you died with honor, they say that you died for the country and the president. But your tales? Why did they not mention those? And did they forget about me? They were ashamed of you, your beautiful art, clumsy nightingale. With the tall, cold one has come your partner. Between the fog I remember his sad smile and that he handed me, sly and fast - oh, so fast!- your ring. You said you wanted to marry me when you would be back. I remember that day. Was a Sunday, was snowing outside. We were cuddling on the couch, you hold me tight. You said it was to keep me warm, but I was burning, though I stayed still. I remember your heart was beating calmly and your flesh so, oh God, so good. You got up from the couch, though all my protests. You shushed me with a brief, quick kiss "Hold on". I didn't move. You came back with two muffins, coffee and a velvet box. I still remember the feeling, the confusion and the sudden snap of my heart, its furious beats. You knelt in front of me. Your face became very serious, you tightened your lips and, shivering, you took the box. Only then, you watched me. Only then I saw your eyes enormous, green, almost liquid for the emotions, the fear and... love. I felt it, you know, at that time. Like a wave, hot and slow. It went through me and left me breathless. You said your words and I said mine and we made love all the night. Sun came up and we were a tangled heap of flesh and sheets. You had your head on my stomach, the soft cheek against my skin, your mouth slightly open, drooling, my love. And asleep while I contemplated my wedding ring, safe on my finger. Now I hold yours in my palm, with your sweaty beret. It strikes me, strong in my stomach knowing that I will not see you again. That we will no more do breakfast together, that I will not get angry with you and fuck you up till dawn to ask forgiveness for my bad mood.... There will be no more Christmas or Easters. There will not be flowers and chocolates and boredom and discomfort. Anymore.
I won't need that lubricant and these condoms, not again. This house is too big. I won't flinch because of your hamburgers and I won't force you to eat vegetables. You don't need a good health when you are dead.
My love, now I'm crying. My love, now I'm screaming. My love, Gerard, now I want to die.
"Forever Frank" is written on your ring. It no longer makes sense now.
But my love you have stopped believing in fairy tales. You took up a gun and you went to war. Did you find your enemies? Or maybe there are only bodies and bones and blood....
On this chair I hold your words. "How sad it is here. Everything reeks of sadness."
Love, you have lost hope. Your tales are dead. They have dried your tongue of poet, they
shot to your soul and they crumbled your artistic bones. Bulldozers pull down houses and they kill with bombs. My love, did you really believed that this was the way?
I cry when I imagine your big mouth, wide open to sing stories, to sing of hidden forests and
beautiful lost girls... I smile for your slender fingers, ink-stained and your pointed nose, dirt of red and blue and green... you have painted. Haven't you, love? And there is no surprise when they knock on my door. Our door. I feel heart crumbling, but it does not hurt. It's like losing a nail already broken. It 'died when you left, now was dry and the breath of these blackbirds with false tears do nothing but crumble it. A long time passed and I realize that it's dark outside. I notice to be on my knees, to tighten your cap tightly to my chest . It's still dirty with your sweat. I feel your hair, soft, scented blacks. They have killed you, my love. They say you died with honor, they say that you died for the country and the president. But your tales? Why did they not mention those? And did they forget about me? They were ashamed of you, your beautiful art, clumsy nightingale. With the tall, cold one has come your partner. Between the fog I remember his sad smile and that he handed me, sly and fast - oh, so fast!- your ring. You said you wanted to marry me when you would be back. I remember that day. Was a Sunday, was snowing outside. We were cuddling on the couch, you hold me tight. You said it was to keep me warm, but I was burning, though I stayed still. I remember your heart was beating calmly and your flesh so, oh God, so good. You got up from the couch, though all my protests. You shushed me with a brief, quick kiss "Hold on". I didn't move. You came back with two muffins, coffee and a velvet box. I still remember the feeling, the confusion and the sudden snap of my heart, its furious beats. You knelt in front of me. Your face became very serious, you tightened your lips and, shivering, you took the box. Only then, you watched me. Only then I saw your eyes enormous, green, almost liquid for the emotions, the fear and... love. I felt it, you know, at that time. Like a wave, hot and slow. It went through me and left me breathless. You said your words and I said mine and we made love all the night. Sun came up and we were a tangled heap of flesh and sheets. You had your head on my stomach, the soft cheek against my skin, your mouth slightly open, drooling, my love. And asleep while I contemplated my wedding ring, safe on my finger. Now I hold yours in my palm, with your sweaty beret. It strikes me, strong in my stomach knowing that I will not see you again. That we will no more do breakfast together, that I will not get angry with you and fuck you up till dawn to ask forgiveness for my bad mood.... There will be no more Christmas or Easters. There will not be flowers and chocolates and boredom and discomfort. Anymore.
I won't need that lubricant and these condoms, not again. This house is too big. I won't flinch because of your hamburgers and I won't force you to eat vegetables. You don't need a good health when you are dead.
My love, now I'm crying. My love, now I'm screaming. My love, Gerard, now I want to die.
"Forever Frank" is written on your ring. It no longer makes sense now.
♠ ♠ ♠
With love G.