Tonight, I search for the shadow of a past unknown to me.
In it's depths I see what you confessed, once, some time ago.

Do you remember what had been said
under the moon's heavy eye, whose light was reflected in the furious waves of the winter sea?
That night you had smoked, and sighed, and read to me what you wrote
in the pages of my small notebook.

From the pages spilled forth confessions and tales of your first love.
A love whose hold I could still feel in your nervous voice.

In your eyes, I saw an expression of muted sorrow for that past,
Sorrow lingering, the failure of a first love,
And a lachrymose melancholy for things, which I could only grasp from the little
which you wrote and gave away.

I watched helplessly as you tore open your heart to display to me what troubles you still.
It now tears my heart.
It was hard to take in.

...

Tonight, I see the past through a window
Which I came across, still open
Through it I see a similar scene.
Close to the sea, on a rocky beach
Two figures sit, embracing each other
with a naive love, burning still with childish innocence.
The boy who's eyes are blinded by her beauty,
Whose heart is taken by her mind,
Declares his love in words and loving gestures.
Confessions so hot in nature that they burn the eyes of a distanced observer.
It is me.

...

Tonight, my thoughts wander,
down visions of dark alleyways and corridors I was never in
Seeing the happiest life he has ever known, in the arms of a girl which aren't mine.
He loved her, he did
With all his heart.
And I love him.

I love him, I really do, and I cannot contain myself.
Words in uncovered love letters are burned into my mind and
tear my heart still.
Kisses captured in photographs of white and grey take on a green colour in my heart.

O sickening love, why must I see these things? What morbid force compells me to torture myself with such thoughts?
Was it for this Pandora opened her box?