And then the truth appears in absent words
that speak in silence of his coldest shoulders
and his indifference,
but say that real life so got in the way.
Apparently, now they are far apart,
real life is not her space these days.
She is just something on the internet.
He said he had not felt so well with someone,
so relaxed, that he had been without love many years.
It felt alright. It felt like home.
She stayed a week.
Watching herself she knows she is real life.
A woman, mother, human being and a friend. A widow.
And with all pain, this hurt is just one more.
She will survive, move on one day and love again.
Real life etcetera. Once more she learnt a thing or two,
like: don’t believe a lover with
bright pink slippers in his bedroom, when they are not his size.
For days after her new status as a widow
she did not look at her body, now going into celibacy,
she did not comb her hair, nor change her clothes,
for some of him – a faint odor only she knew, a memory of his last breath –
was still there, to be remembered, to fade slowly, melting with fragrances
of other people’s daily lives.
She had no time to think much about all this,
for things had to be arranged and dealt with, the coffin chosen.
But later, after the turmoil and the upset had calmed down,
she found time to look in the mirror and it came to her
she was a different woman now
in clothes he had never seen her in. In a time never to be his.
As day by day, with every eye blink, every sunrise,
life returned to her in useless opportunities and goals,
challenging her curiosity and vows,
she learnt to accept
that scents were new for her to enjoy. That her body
was moving on and that she was still herself.
Under leaves and small twigs the creature
lived long enough to see his offspring
but too short to meet other creatures
except the few he and his family would eat.
When he was dying, the creature
surrounded by three generations of creatures
He was the first of these creatures to do so.
The other creatures therefore did not understand him
but his words remained in their memory
and sixty generations later
a creature knew what he had meant
when his first and last words were:
“Life ain’t worth the aggravation.”
The questions grow in number as I age,
my fears increase, my doubts enlarge.
There is no wisdom I have found by now.
Of all the certainties I knew not one survived.
The rainbows come and go these days,
and you once told me I should chase them.
I promised I would try.
I do not even know you understand me anymore. Yet
once I thought our wavelength was the same.
There is so much I should not bother telling.
Of all the certainties the only one that shall remain
is that a rainbow feels like silk. Just go and touch it.
The question is not how it’s done. Nor to succeed.
I hope I got you chasing.