I had just been dumped yesterday. I'm still a bit intoxicated not by inebration (or herbal high), but by compunction that has chagrined me since the day my heart was broken. I have been drifting mindlessly with the wind like a weightless leaf fallen from an old tree.
My head is a dam of thoughts waiting to be released freely through the river until they reach the ocean, where I guess my love has drowned me. Sometimes, ocean speaks of death, a silent one.
In the meantime, I'll let Pablo Neruda express my feelings with his poem, If you forget me...
I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine...
--Pablo Neruda
