You can spare me the details-
but I want to know the truth, in its
whole form, without the details,
I want to imagine the details to suit my grieving-
if you could respect it, that way, just that.
I am limited in my strength, I am of a
limited disposition- but don't worry
the truth has always been handled by my type.
they tell me that the big green trees
in our neighbourhood were planted
by you; its comforting to know that
you still provide me with the air I breathe-
the man who fixes our air-conditioner
thinks otherwise, but you know how I
was never removed from the basic truths of life,
and so I know; and thats why it's important
to know the truth. Perhaps its overrated,
but what if- you taught me that
knowledge liberates, that we are the
happiest when we understand,
even of our shortcomings?
Constructive criticism, that's the word you oft used.
The ocean is a mile away from here,
one and a half kilometres, that's how
they say it in your country- oceans
apart, but why did it happen now,
when everyone's headed to beautiful
places, everyone but me-
my truth will always be different
than yours, that's why I want to know
the truth, the heart of the matter.
Sometimes on a quiet day,
I can still hear the waves and the gulls,
sometimes in staccato beats
and think of the days when our bodies lay side by
side, and you blew my sweaty face with insides
of your lung-
but that was not the truth, not your truth anyway.
Some of me will never be aware of your entire
truth, but that's how it is, so I will keep this in my
heart, knowing that you are gone- my imaginations
will guide me- and I have stopped wishing ugly things
for you; your truth is beauty, and all the
nice things that I couldn't give you, and all the nice
feelings that were too short to last
another story gone wrong.