camicazy

Meshed Up
2002-05-09 13:45:10 (UTC)

wuv

my friend is broken. he has lost his heart, his love. all
gone. just like that. one minute they were laughing, the
next minute they were still laughing but things were
different. she has opened the door and stepped out of his
heart.

love...so fleeting. one moment it's there, the next it's
gone. nothing in this world is ever constant. nothing in
this world is forever.

things will be different from this day forth. that's
another sad thing about friendship. once a friend falls for
a friend...things change. especially when the fallen
doesn't receive the love back. friendships deteriorate.
gone. ups and goes.

it hurts to get hurt. hurts when you get cut. hurts even
more when you're scarred. hurts the most when you are
spurned.

i have thought of one word to describe myself. masked. yup.
i'm masked. always have, always will be.

'I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."
The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.
To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.
What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.
That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.
As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.
The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.
I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.
Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.
Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.
Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.'

Pablo Neruda