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gone \’gôn also ‘gan\

no longer existing: no longer at a place; departed or lost.

When asked about my favorite memory, I can recall nothing. All that comes into mind is a blur of what has once been, of what things were, right before everything ceased to exist. I remember the shadow of your smile, the echo of your voice, and the silhouette of your embrace. It was the simplest of things, and also the insignificant ones at that, that seems to be tattooed on my mind. Nothing can quite compare to the feel of your lips pressed against mine, to the touch of your hands igniting my body. When it comes to you, all else fades into the background: my fears of commitment, of being not enough.

However, none of it matters now, anyway. Not when all is lost; not when everything is all a little too late. So if one would ask why I do not consider these fragments of memories as my favorite, the answer is quite simple. A favorite memory should be something that could bring you rapture in reminiscing. How could nostalgias centered with you become my favorite if all they do is haunt me of a love lost and another round of “what could have been”?
Once in every dream my brain could come up with, amidst the constant troubling of my nightmares to sleep, I get visions of us holding hand in hand with everyone right there to see. I dream of you singing me to sleep, enveloping me in your warmth all through the night. But this wistful thinking burns all hopes like how a piece of the sun could burn like a coin in my hand. No more, darling, we could not go back to the way it was, no more.

Like a missing piece in a puzzle, I know it is more than a mystery, an enigma, why I vanished suddenly. Are you even still waiting for me? Are you still there pining for my return? If yes, then good for me that I have someone like you. If no, then just know that I completely understand. But whatever the answer may be, I know you deserve an answer. The lies I reasoned with for leaving are not entirely tell-tales. But I did lie, by omission, of denying you the truth of why I wanted out.

As I write this letter to you, I want you to think of me with the sun’s rays illuminating my dark locks. Envision me in a meadow by the hill, with the sun setting behind my back, the pen in my hand with you as the subject of my afternoon daydream. But in this reverie, I do not think of how it feels to be loved by you again neither how it soothes my insides to hear your voice once more. Instead, in this contemplation, I gather all the courage to make myself vulnerable to someone, to entrust a portion of my soul to the hands of another.

I remember how you once asked me, “Will you stay with me no matter what?” You took my lack of answer as an affirmation and kissed me on the forehead instead as we looked at the stars lighting up the night sky. There was a lot of everything that I would have wanted to say but nothing came out of my mouth through every attempt. I wanted to tell you that I could not, that no matter how much I would have wanted that to happen, it would be more than unfair to you if I stayed. No, if you stayed with me.

Do you remember how I told you how my grandfather switched up names of his own daughters? Do you remember the story of how my aunt mistook her past lover to be her husband? You see, love, a year or two from now, I might become them. I have been diagnosed with a terminal memory loss, the Alzheimer’s disease as they would call it, and only time then could dictate the deadline of every single memory I have.

Leaving, as they say, was always a coward’s way out. But is not it dauntless how I braved living without my lifeline, living my life without you? I did not mean to be selfish, dear, but cannot you see how I am being selfless in letting you go? To set you free of me is to protect you from anymore hurt that this condition of mine would bring you. The knowledge of me leaving you for an unknown reason is a more tolerable pain than the reality of me forgetting you in the long run.

“Where were you then?” I was at the far distance looking at you exist without me in the picture. “Who else was there?” No one but your silhouette haunting me every minute. “Saying what?” That it was a mistake to abandon you.

Mourn no more for our lost love, dear. Mourn no more for the longing of what we once had and the regrets of what we could have had. As my every memory of you slowly wanes, always remember how hard I held on to them, the hardest that my brain could ever allow. Sometimes it is bliss to pretend that memory loss happens since the brain gives way for the heart to store the collection of moments we have, that my mind flushes you out to store you inside the core of my body.
But most of all, darling, the pain of leaving is endurable than the unbearable pain of seeing you suffer all because of me, than the inevitable pain of taking one glimpse on the masked agony on your face every single time I would ask “Who are you?” It would hurt to look at your beautiful face with me unable to know even just your name. You see, love, to be gone from your life is far more tolerable than to exist day by day with you in my life slowly vanishing into dust. Always, for always it would only be you. Even after all of my memories plummet into the hollow chasm and they are all gone, gone, just gone.

Disclaimer: This literary work in prose written in a first-person point of view is penned as a reply to Pablo Neruda’s poem entitled Clenched Soul.
J J Aug 21
Along the grass,beneath the sky
The draconic sun vitrified
The lover figurines.
Flattening them
Adjacent to the surface,
Skin blent in crackly tessellation,
Deforming to fit the sphere,adhering to it's
Wondrous silence.
Frail limbs minute,heart's heavy as whole islands.

Is it not love embodied to lay defined as an image?
To be held as shatterless glass,reflecting it's deity's melting
In progress, 'neath the star that impelled a shelter,
The star that paved their meeting,that overlooked
Their life and death in a predetermined stasis,
The divinity that shimmered underfoot at all times,
The star that held all places of the earth in one.

The figurine lovers, faceless mannikinis
Sentenced to worship forever without a choice,
For prior love, for prior sins,
It matters not--they rot and twist as the Sun's play-dice.
anthony Brady Jun 2018
“Truly,an abstract masterpiece,
you have just finished Picasso!”

“No, my friend, it’s a disaster:
everything in it is wrong….

… bad, I’m throwing
it away. I can’t stand it.”

“Don’t do that Pablo,
that face could  be
improved: just paint over it?”

“Hmm. Amigo, I would
not know where to start…”

“Start at the nose Pablo,
if I were you…”

The artist studies the canvas:
"the nose? The nose? "

“Qué lástima! I would
if I could find it.”

i loved her and sometimes she loved me too
and all i ever was, too scared to lose her to another.

i miss her and i know sometimes she'll miss me too,
but not the way i have and certainly not the way i do.

only if there was a way to love someone
even more perhaps we'd made it through

and so i loved her and sometimes our love felt so true,
but you never know why when sometimes the feelings just die

and why the truly bless'd are so few.

now when i hate her at times i blame myself for having loved her true
but she was never mine and all we ever had is now lost to the time,

and i can't tame the bleeding blues.

i loved her and
sometimes she loved me too

and i try to find meaning in words
of the great Pablo,
but there's no healing only this
mutual satisfaction of knowing,

that he felt the same way as i  do.

even though we're not the same
nobody can tell anybody else's pain
though it's just one hell
and we'll never find each other again

at the very end
the only man in the mirror
is lonely you

but i loved her
and i know sometimes she loved me too.
people don't want to be people anymore.
Ant Sep 2018
As a young child I wanted a right hand.
one to ride with my vibe.
a person I don’t mind to see me cry.
i want a love so strong that it is a sin to the world eyes.
i laugh you laugh...shhhhh!!! I can be corny at times.
when one cries we are there to uplift, because love won’t let the inner die.
you Guernica
i Pablo Picasso
you humbling shinning by my side
tru love is what i’m looking for :)

feel this............i bathe you in a fruit bath
to wash away  the world stressful sin.
i dry you off then rub you down with warm oil hmph !!
let the magic begin :)
then we make love like the world is going to end.
just to wake up to see the sunrise again
that was a young child
who became a man
still wanting that right hand
Tru Love Is What I’m looking For :)

as my old skool soul wraps around my heart.
the piano sound dances with the wind
because it has found the thing it’s been looking for.
if i said it once i will say it again
tru love is what i’m looking for :)
Try reading this to Ludovico Einudi- Nuvole bianche it’s what inspired this
Maha Aug 2018
○ If little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
-  Pablo Neruda

○ احتفظنا بها مشحوذة ولامعة كي ننكأ بها ندوبنا القديمة كلما يبست..
ولكننا بالسكاكين ذاتها التي خبأناها مشحوذة وناصعة في الأدراج
رحنا نسدد الطعنات لبعضنا البعض.

○ There's no sense in trying to quiet the storm
All that can be done is to embrace it with both arms.
katryna Dec 2018
first time?
no? hmmm
im siam and you are?
cold turkey.
cold turkey, nice name.

is that for real coz im starting to believe it.

sigh, of course not!
as if siam is your real name duh!

do you want to go out and have life outside
or you just want to sit back and relax as if you enjoy all this ****?

what do you want siam?
im free.



no thanks,
im done with 1 bottle already.


kiddin, hi im oyster and you are?
oyster, sound scandal isnt it?

i know.

im free,


who am i?
who am i?

say it louder,
who am i?

just do it!




what's your name again?
it doesnt matter anyway,

call me whatever you like.
meet siam from the land of imagination.
siam is a 27 yrs old with no gender (feel free to guess
Julio May 19
The moth is still there,
in search of light on the table.
And the glass is definitely there,
And the moth does not understand.

I lost the lighter
no phosphoros
only the hot water tank pilot
And I have so many cigarettes!

I must learn hindu,
or imagine how they
This "Brisas del Mar"
does not have any of that
and it smells like a dog.

Today potato cake,
I think well done.
With black olives,
morron, good layer of cheese

The bottle was left in the sideboard
with his cork and hood,
unscathed and surprised

It's just that I do not drink alone
and a bottle is not a company.

I call Pedro, Clemente's nephew
Everything is fine,
That the lagoon still does not freeze
He  awaits me when I want

The address of Clemente
41º31.35 57 "S
68º 41.47 88 "O
but I know how to get there,
where today I would like to be.

The music tonight sounds flat,
It does not envelop me, I leave it anyway
Maybe someone listens
tonight better than me

Kosova returned tired of the forest
she has a hard time and it is hard for her to adjust.
The same will fall asleep at thebottom of the stairs
I called Pablo, I must give him the injection soon.

There is no wind, there are no sounds,
the incense defintively smells like a dog
No offense to anyone

I have to sleep, I'm tired,
but I'm not sleepy .......
Gods1son Mar 1
If Pablo Picasso or Leonardo Da Vinci's
works of art are so great,
How about God's work of art;
which YOU are.
anthony Brady May 17
I could be a Titian
but can’t even draw
a straight line,
not least create
a masterpiece.
Is that Pablo,
Vincent and Rodin
giggling somewhere
at my useless doodles?
You could be a Degas
dancer that’s what:
me, avoiding your toes
holding you with
my nervous shake
all out  of rhythm
and pace. My sweaty
palms on your bare back,
my apologies –Ma Cherie!

My poems may
not make wine
out of water.
But I can try
to dance on cue.
As for my canvases
I will paint you
in every colour
including blue.

I’m an art lover:
that much I
know is true,
with brushes,
words to share,
hold it right there
just let me
show you.

Ashley Reem Apr 29
A place where we feel minuscule
All the gray soaking our vision
Pushing for comfort
Faster for fear
The whole city on our glossy eyes
Not sure what route we will take
As long as our paths meet at the end
In our tiny city, with our big hearts
We come together as one
The moon connects us
If we keep our chins up
Pushing for comfort
Faster for fear
Away in the distance
The beautiful words of love
Pablo is always near
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