Letter to M., #4

Dearest M.,

Do forgive me for putting these words into verses

Which will just complicate things and

None of us will want to see; but M.

Is there anything on this Earth that is ever


Dearest M.,

I had a dream.

I don’t even know if it was about the me and you

Or someone else – someone more unhappy and

More painful, filled with undeserved sufferings, but

The man was confessing his love and

The woman says, That’s good, but I want to hear it again 100 years from now.

But darling, none of us will be alive

100 years from now.

He smiled at her, his loving anew with longing and solitude,

But there’s one thing you could do:

Just die before me.

You make that sound so simple, the woman giggles innocently.

Her beauty was in between and everywhere.

The man tucked her strand of hair gently behind her ear, and with sadness in his weary eyes, he said:

Darling, nothing in this world is ever that complicated.

And the dream ended.

I don’t remember the first half of it, but I presume

Like all things had happened, that it must have been a happier scene:

Where the lovers were not so old and

Desperate and hopeless.

Dearest M.,

If it’s not visible in the retelling of my dream

It must be visible here:

I just don’t want 100 years from now,

I had to mourn the death of my love for you

In front of a grave that cannot speak and

A soul I cannot see.

Whatever I ever said and

Whatever I wanted it to be between us

Will disappear.

Because M., none of us will be here 100 years from now,

And nothing in this Earth will be that complicated.

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