hemlock170374

Memories of you all
pour down like rain
and I see you all as one,
without the differences
in your taste in clothes
and in the way you chose to speak.

Always giving me the same things,
the same gifts, the same sweet pain
of not wanting to avoid you.

Our hands, searching each other,
and finally grasping and holding,
every time,
guided only by the undeniable truth
that in the whole world
we saw no other choice than each other,
both drowned in the illusion
that one of us had the power to be the revelation
the other was looking for.
The joy we received
from our lack of experience,
which made every touch of yours
look like the proof
that the meaning of life was finally found.
Finally found
but so early, in hindsight,
that it lasted as much as a rose does,
pouring out so much beauty at the same time
that it quickly burned and faded.

In the ashes of you, though,
I can still see my gratitude for what you showed me,
the example of you and the sweetness of your rarity,
the desire not to step down from that
and the will to look for more
or die trying.