A cup of longing

I must grow used to longing for your absent face— with weeping eyes, accustomed to the ache. My cup lies empty now. From this moment on, I shall fill it only with regret. Though I am far from you, whenever I close my eyes, you appear— seen by the heart, called by a hundred whispered prayers. Where is the one who, in the night of parting, sighs into the breaking dawn? Where is the one who kisses each drop of your weeping? I am weary of this world, of fortune—deaf and cruel— that hears not my cries, nor brings a single word of you. Why do these silent tears never end? I only wish to speak with you, for one moment— of a sweeter ending to our story. One night, I must cast this cup of longing to the ground— let it shatter, or let it shatter me, and end this aching solitude. One day, I will come to you unannounced, like a bird with broken wings. You— you are where my heart turns, fairer than the moon. Each breeze that passes, I search for your scent— hoping it may carry a balm for the raw wound of my yearning.