I once asked her why she only wrote about love.
At first she kept silence, probably wondering what she could answer, then she took a deep breath and proceeded to look at me in the eyes.
She said those exact words to me:
« Because it's the only way I can live it ».
And in a second she was back to writing as if what she told me wasn't the most heartbreaking truth.
I was sad, in a way.
I did not expected that.
There is definitely some questions that you ask, not knowing why, but you do it anyway, and what you receive is brutal honesty.
Something that breaks you in millions pieces.
On my way to leave the room she stopped me and asked : « Why... why do you even read my books? ».
She wasn't writing anymore, now.
I was standing in the middle of the room, looking at her. Waiting, as I always did, for something that will never come.
As she finally locked eyes with me, I answered : « Because that's the only way I can live it with you » I paused. « Love ».
And I left.
Sometimes you desperately wish for something, but you are not able able to see that it's already here. Right in front of you. And when you finally see it it's too late. It always is. Because life isn't fair. It never was and never will be.
YOU ARE READING
Beloved sincerity
PoetryThose poems are wrote in English, but I must tell you that it isn't my first language. So grammatical or syntactical errors might occur. Still, enjoy your reading!
