anti_

For my buddy: UsedUpFool

It's dawn now and all gushing fountains babble louder. My soul also is a gushing fountain.

It's dawn now and all songs of the loving ones awake. My soul also is the song of a loving one.

I am light. I wish I was the blackest night. But it is my lonesomeness that courts light.

If I were the darkness, I would rejoice in the gifts of your light.

But I live in my own light, I drink again into myself the flames that break forth from me.

Something unappeased, unappeasable, is within me; it longs to find expression. A craving for love is within me, which begs me for a home.

Is there happiness as the object of someone's affection? I imagine that stealing must be more rewarding than receiving.

It is my poverty that my heart never stops giving; it is my envy that I see waiting eyes in the brightened nights of longing.

The misery of giving. The darkening of my sun. The violent hunger of satiating them.

They take from me, but do I ever touch their souls? There is a gap between giving and receiving that I'm not sure can be bridged over.

He who gives too much is in danger of losing his shame. The hand and heart become callous by the act.

The lonesomeness of all givers.

It's dawn now and all gushing fountains babble louder. My soul also is a gushing fountain.

It's dawn now and all songs of the loving ones awake. My soul also is the song of a loving one.