Stranger

Years between us and yet at times,

You seem such a stranger.

Countless nights when we were but one

And yet there are ways in which

I will never know you,

Nor can you ever touch me

Where I yearn to be touched.

In this space between truth and falsehood;

Where each day's companionship

transforms into a night full of loneliness;

Whose presence is this that stifles this room of togetherness? 

Is that your memory of an unshared past 

Or my dream of a never-to-be-future?

The music that claims your very being, 

Moving you to tears and absorption

Why does it fail to draw me in?

Those pages that draw me into the slow

current of an impassioned life

Why do you not see them as they are?

You say there is life beyond love and pining;

that the air I breathe in is not the same as I exhale

But love, my love, 

this insane urge to mingle every ounce of my being with you;

to sew my body and soul into yours

This defines my very being.

Ah how strong is love's hatred!

How passionate the green hues of

ego, rage and envy!

And yet, love, my love,

When the south wind blows,

Bringing wafts of yesteryear's fragrance;

I am drawn to you as you to me

In this space between apathy and ennui.