Friday, October 24, 2014

What I Talk About When I Talk About Love

What I Talk About When I Talk About Love

Last night I read Raymond Carver's famous story once more
And of course I thought of you, the one I used to adore.
I was choked up, but my hand didn't reach for the phone. 
The past was long gone. 
You certainly no longer remember me, but I can't forget you. 
That doesn't mean I still love you. 
No, I don't. 
But you were the one that first set this heart of mine on fire, 
That taught me what desire was like. 
That happened almost 50 years ago, but it seemed just like yesterday. 
We were both young and green and overflowing with dreams and life.
About you I was torn by conflicting desires,
Both wanting to be near you and running away from you. 
I finally took off running, away from you and from myself.

Then I met many, many others 
Who somehow couldn't fill up this emptiness of mine.
Several times, I thought I was in love, 
Thinking I could forget you for real. 
I was wrong. 
You were the recurring dream that kept coming back. 
You were the voice that kept echoing in my head,
The beauty and the charm that gave me a heart-attack.
You were the one I was talking to when I was all alone, especially at night. 
I kept calling for your name. 
Some guy had a summer of 1942. 
Mine was the summer of 1967. 
Since then love has become a game.

One, maybe two or even three women 
Confessed to me that they really loved me. 
I believed in one, maybe two, of them. 
When I told them about you, 
They all told me I was a stupid fool, 
A man who refused to grow up and face life. 
They all told me you didn't love me, never did, and never will. 
I agreed with them, but I told them they didn't know 
What they were talking about when they talked about love.

Love is what I'm doing when I struggle to learn a new language. 
The memories, the associations, the wishes and the drives 
To make myself look good and worthy in your eyes. 
I'm falling short, of course. 
I'm destroying myself.
But I'm still learning the language of love, and memories of you still make me smile. 

Postcriptum:

So, hours on end I write
For you, for me, for the love that went by the bend.
How long can I go on?
Three, five, ten years more?
I'll write of the love that was long gone
Leaving behind half a man?
I'm not sure anymore
It's all futile, I sadly realize, 
Thinking of you, sitting here on the shore 
While waves after waves keep rolling on 
And then pulling away,
Like my memories of you, 
Like we first met, 
Like on your oval face the beautiful smile, 
The sparkling, radiant eyes
Tonight is another Friday night
Friday nights always make me feel blue.
Too tired to go out, 
Sitting here all alone, thinking of you. 
Thousands and thousands of stars up in the sky.
Which one is yours, and which one is mine?
Are they close to each other?
Or are they like you and I?
Far, far apart.

Wissai
August 23, 2014

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