“The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it’s indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it’s indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it’s indifference.”
Elie Wiesel
It just suddenly stops. Everything is still, even my mind, my thought, my hands, my legs… The atmosphere is completely frozen.
I know I will hurt you, and myself, so much. But it will pain me much more if we continue this way.
Life is unfair, we know that. We have to adapt. We have to move on…
Too much of anything may kill you!
—
I don’t even know either I’m empty or overloaded with thoughts now.
And you will find no fear here, in unkind words or the hardness of others.
And you will find no sadness here, in the meanness of the world, in the anger that comes from those who feel small.
And you will find no hurt here, in a million insults or a single, softly spoken lie.
Because only a hard heart shatters.
Only a hard heart, breaks.
- I wrote this for you
Outside the station, she stands with her child on the side of the street, taking pictures of cars.
You think she’s insane. Until, one day, you notice that she’s taking pictures of the license plates of the cars her child gets into.
Because you look. But you do not see.
And she walks out the shop with bags full of cat food. You think she’s some crazy cat lady until you find out, she has no cats.
Because you eat. But you do not taste.
It’s been a while since their last album but he assures you, he’s doing just fine these days, white flecks in his nostrils. Then he asks you if he can spend the night on your couch, even though it stinks.
Because you sniff. But you do not smell.
And they say “Just OK” when you ask them how school was. Then you wonder what they’re hiding until you find their diary and the last entry reads “I wish you’d give me some privacy.”
Because you listen. But you do not hear.
And they’ve got a bruise over their eye and you run the tips of your fingers over it and ask them how it happened. You believe them. Until it happens again.
Because you touch. But you do not feel.
And they walk past you everyday, one million stories, each waiting to be told. Waiting for you to ask.
Because you live. But very few, love.
- I wrote this for you
Oh love. Why is your body so still, why do your muscles sing no more, why does your chest not rise and fall.
Oh love. Why is your skin so cold, why do your eyes not trace my face, why do you not get up and accept my warm embrace.
Oh love. I have no regrets for our mistakes, no heart left to break, for you have taken it with you to the grave.
Oh love. Love that turned to death, death that turned to longing, longing that turned away from me, leaving me here to bear it alone.
Oh love. Oh love. Oh my love.
- I wrote this for you
You close your eyes when you cry. That’s ok. Just don’t keep them closed too long. Things have become beautiful since you last looked. There’s nothing more to cry about.
- I wrote this for you
