If only I could explain to you in such a way as you might comprehend? I look for some evidence that God understands what it is like to be a man. Full of passion and compassion. Love. Hate. Joy. Sorrow. How every action reaction and every decision regret.
Many times I have wondered from afar, what if? What if I wore a yellow tie and white shirt? Or green shoes and drank lemonade from a jar? Would it change the fact that I can never love you as I want to love you? You do not even know that I love you.
Distance. A distance in time that encompasses more than just the coming of Age. What tender kisses I have missed and this feeling of life that might have been sustained in happiness if just a single touch you gave to me… in passing… or maybe just a glance.
How you capture my soul and encase it in emptiness. How my heart dissolves when I see you. How my mind flies away to some faraway heaven that I will never know. A soul without a mate is much worse than a mate without a soul.
If. If. If. Like water dripping on stone. If’s forever tearing away my armor and my inside wretches in knowing what will never be. Only regrets and what is. Not regrets: as in folly of youth, but regrets wielded in obeisance to Destiny’s vengeful rage. Things past, not relived. Things present, lived as if they never were. A future that will never be. A kiss that exists only in God’s mind: never realized but extant in the immutable vagaries of infinite impossibilities.
Not Love’s capricious whim alone bears guilt to her indolent castigation. And you. Like some Star, bound in my mind’s eye: a light whose darkness pierces my soul. You fill my emptiness with reminders of what I wanted to be. What could have been…if.
Love caches away my heart to be devoured some other time. God throws his dice. Maybe another day. Another eternity. Another kiss. You and Love. Me and Destiny. And we speak in riddles to one another. My love unrequited. Prayers inexorably muttered to an evasive chide:
“If all the stars in heaven were made as one, their fire would pale in the light of my love for you.”
“If is such a simple word. If this, if that, then this or if the other. What else is left to say?”
“Words cannot describe my emptiness. I live in my tomb. The stone undisturbed.”
“Is the glass half empty or half full? Neither. It is half full and half empty.”
“My soul is lost in knowing that we will never be. What is left to do but regret this day and hope for tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow never comes. Only innumerable yesterdays”
I must be wrong. How could Time be persuaded to end before we are rejoined to the oneness we were meant to be? How could God exist, his being the knowledge of all that is known, when I have not known the rapture of your perfection? Is God not the fullness of all that is? Yet I am empty, half absolved, half condemned. I am a soul wandering in the desert of my futility. A light consumed by darkness.
My soul beckoning for you. Hoping for the salvation of your kiss. The redemption of my emptiness by the fullness of our passion and the fire of your eternal grace. One again. One forever. One alone in the culmination of our Love. One. As being both you or I.
For J. The “may” be that I hope is the “to” be.