you,
who acquire a very delicate heart
was hurt too many times
that you don’t feel pain anymore.

you,
who became numb of all things
has finally found everything tedious
and live in absolute indifference.

for you,
the world only holds the color
of black and white,
even with no shade of grey
or everything in between.

tt has become a part of who you are,
in solitude, utter numbness, apathetic

empty.
nothing.

for if one day,
one day,
we're destined to meet again
let's pretend, that you and I,
vous et moi,
are complete strangers

who stumble upon one another for the very first time.

for the history of us,
the you and I of the old renaissance,
the you and I,
who even made Paris and Helen envious

has ceased to exist.

bruno major said,
"what if the world is a hopeless place
and we're scared to admit
that we're alone"


we've known the world is a beautiful place
but we're on our own

definitely on our own.

this void,
is eating you alive
yet you kept on feeding it, knowing how much it kills you

maybe,
you wanted to disappear too.

though our wind no longer swayed in the same direction
though our sun doesn't rise at the same time
and though our ocean doesn't bear the same wave
my dear,
I've always prayed
from the inmost part of my soul
that your path will always be filled with joy and happiness
and that everything around you
will also eradiate warmth
so that the dark lacuna and the brisk part of this world
won't make you feel left alone

so that neither solitude
nor my absenteeism
will cast you away to the brink of inconsistency
and self-loathing

until then . . .