I traveled to the lands of poets and legendary lovers. I saw the devotees weeping at every shrine. I heard the nightingales singing in paradisiacal gardens. I carried my love with me along the tiresome way. The sighs of lovers whispered that I am not alone. The pains of the lonesome accompanied me, and I could not ask them to stay away.
Running away does not help, I knew this but I wanted to find myself, to get me back and maybe leave your love as a treasure in that far land. I wish I could have built another shrine for us, for our story, I wish I could bury in it all my pain, longing and despair. Your love is killing me everyday, it is washing all the colors and melodies that I had known away. Now nothing seems fulfilling or even interesting again. How deep the scar of your love will be? I wish it would be a scar, at least it will be part of me, and then it would tell everyone the whole story and leave me in the silence that I am starting to befriend these days. It won’t be a scar for sure, but a million wound that keep bursting with pain, and I will have to keep going, as of what and to whom would I complain. Let me gaze at the scenes around me, let me lose myself for a few minutes in my day dreams where we can have a quick conversation before you quickly escape.
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