Loneliness
I am that story that breathes the face of the
wind, and bends with love towards its cold sidewalks, for estrangement is a
bare tree whose memories are filled with ghosts. When its songs fall on my
shoulder in the midst of that desolate darkness, I know that the night is a
bitter companion, and that the foggy city that I once passed through was made
by hearts that migrated before the morning.
Yes, my friend, this is how I find
myself immersed in the darkness of my loneliness, a faint sound that came down
early with the rain. I know, you do not see my heart, nor do you see its pulses
that hide behind the curtains like a rural bride dreaming of the savagery of
the evening. You do not see the very soft branches as they sway so delicately. Yes,
my friend, this is not a dream, but rather a bitter death that knows no end,
and many years have passed quietly over my back. You do not see its hands
because you are not free like the birds of dawn, like my loneliness.
