This life. These people. Who can shatter

at least impact.

But I suppose we live in denial.

For I don’t think that we will

be living this life as we are

if we knew how delicate it is.



I imagine you hands and their gentle grip.

You lips, how they curl when they smile,

and how lovely the words they utter.

You skin that shudders and shivers.

I imagine all this and all that is yours

And hence it is mine.



But when you lifeless body

meets its promised destiny.

Will you still be mine?

Those eyes, that skin, those hands

without life.

And you will rot away

till you are part of this earth.

And you will be everywhere,

but still I would be alone.




Is that love?

Is it love that makes my hand tremble

at the mere thought of you not being there.

Let’s choose this love

that will be end of me, end of you.

Let’s accept the pain this love is.

Because nothing we do,

no pain that we give each other

can be worse than what we will be left with

in the end.