To B.D.


Oh, he can't share my Spirits -
So, let it be.
Nor can he share my solitude -
So, let it be.
Neither - my mystery...
So, let it be.

But there it was - his pain,
  his passion...

So, 
 let him not remember me,
  let him not love me,
   think about me anymore.

But there is was -
  his open heart,
   his open bleeding heart
    of memory,
     of recollections...

He did betray himself
 giving his love away,
  letting it show,
   letting his feelings flow -
    pain and desire.

For that's the only way 
 that he can love.

Oh, did he love me?
Did he really love?

I never thought he did.
But now that twenty years have passed
  I see - he did.

And all the pain,
 and all the loss
  blowed up in him.
   

His open heart -
 pain and desire.

No irony, 
 no cynicism -
  no kidding.

It was so much unlike him,
 but I could see that.

And just for that
 I'll keep him in my heart
  until the end:

No irony,
 no cynicism -
  no kidding...

But just an open bleeding heart -
 pain and desire.


Yes, twenty years had passed
 before I realized
  how much he loved me,
   although he never showed me that
    back then...




Sept. 12, 2004