I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: “The night is full of stars,
And the stars, blue, shiver in the distance.”

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved him, and sometimes, he loved me too.

On nights like this, he held me in his arms.
I kissed him so many times under the infinite sky.

He loved me, and sometimes I loved him.
How could I not have loved his large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don’t have him, to feel that I’ve lost him.

To hear the immense night, more immense without him.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn’t keep him?
The night is full of stars and he is not with me.

That’s all. Faraway, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without him.

As if to bring him near, my eyes search for him.
My heart searches for him but he is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love him, true, but how much I loved him.
My voice searched the wind to touch his ear.

Someone else’s… He will become someone else’s, as he once belonged to my
kisses.
His voice, his light body, his infinite eyes.

I no longer love him, true, but perhaps I do love him.
Love is so short, but oblivion is so long.

Because on nights like this, he held me in his arms,
My soul is lost without him.

Although this may be the last pain he causes me,
This may be the last poem I write for him.

 
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