ONLY LONGING CAME TO ME
ONLY LONGING CAME TO ME
Of all I was owed in this life, only longing ever knocked at my door,
The right belongs to that mirror that sees her every clear and quiet morning,
The right belongs to that breeze that touches her face without asking for more,
The right belongs to that light that slips into her room and stays there, adorning.
The right belongs to the people around her who speak to her without trembling,
Who stand beside her without counting the seconds like rare coins they hold,
Who hear her laugh without waiting the way I wait — a desert, remembering —
I am just a name at the edge of her world, a shadow never called.
I am farther than the mirror, farther than the breeze and the light,
Farther than those who touch her not knowing what treasure they touch,
And I watch all that is near her the way a blind man watches the night —
With open palms reaching toward something I will never reach as much.
Sometimes I wonder what strange kind of justice love carries along,
That the one who holds her heart in his chest is the one condemned to lose,
That the one who knows her soul the deepest is the one kept furthest and gone,
That the greatest love is exactly the one that is never allowed to ignite its fuse.
And my longing stays beside me as the only witness to this wrong,
Like a mirror that sees everything but is never allowed to show what it knows,
I am the name at the edge of her world, carried by the mist and wind along,
And all that ever came to me from love was only longing — only longing, as it goes.
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