red-stained fingertips

a converstation of a love that cannot be had

a love and I had a conversation once. this is how it went.
Ryuu_Writing, thank you for sharing this exchange with me.

now as all the stars wake
you sit beside me and shake
you tell me you're so sorry
i say that i am too.

i look at you
and i wonder where you came from
and why
you feel sorry.

fault is at hand
it sits atop my palm
i blow a kiss at it
but fault does not wither.

fault flutters between two individuals
the question
isn't who it belongs to
but who claims it.

claiming is a concept
an act of empty words
it is what we've done
that causes fault to stir.

what have we done?

the question isn't
"what have we done?"
the question is
"what have we tried?"
to live. or to die.

life is an adventure
we fear it, don't want it.
death is an adventure
we fear it, don't want it
so tell me, darling
isn't living the same as dying?

every second spent alive
is a second we spend dying
but once we are dead
we can never go on living.

death isn't the end of living
or rather
the beginning of a new life
accept her when she comes to you.

certainty crackles within you
how can you know it to be true?
i do not fear death, my love
a sick part of me welcomes it.

sick? or is it wise?

neither. it is Hope.

rather fitting.