Never is a Promise


I remember myself voicelessly shouting that the dream was wrong.

I was still young and I knew it all
And among all these beliefs I knew what lurked
In the end, regardless of who would bring it.

I remember myself claiming that the hair was not exactly dark.
That you had to be too close to see the green in the eyes.
I remember claiming, claiming, claiming
Claiming that I would throw what you gave me into the ocean.
Out of all the sea that surrounded me, the ocean. Even if then I knew why, I wouldn’t
still remember it.

Centuries later, I bring you to mind now and then.
And you are of those that I gladly recall.
There are people who crave nightmares
And as I was then a clumsy evil,
I smile that I was thankfully over.

I remember your fall
It was the first time that I ever witnessed it
With no one to blame really but the nature of things
And without strain, regret or bewilderment (I am lying here)
I catch myself smiling.

In a world where dreams were right
It would be peculiar, something as delicate as you
To be the symbol of a truth so great.
But in the world I live in, your curvy lines
You hair that was not exactly dark
Or your eyes that had you look into them closely to emit their green
Remind, without fear
That after the wake of each dream
Follows the morning visit to the toilet.

I threw your forgotten gift into my ocean
One of the days when I was entering my new house
And this time I was not smiling
And so many lives later, I made yet another wish
A wish that you had taught me something less
A wish that you had awoken me before I learned how to dream
The wrong.

But it is coming back to my lips
The tight smile of truth
That regardless of its repetition never gets numb

Why the hell did I drag you down with me?

P.S. Precious things may also deserve a lousy end.

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2 thoughts on “Never is a Promise

  1. I wonder how it would feel to the person this is about if they ever read it (I am assuming it is about someone because something so beautiful can’t be anything less than addressed). I’d say I secretly envy them. Not many people can express things the way you do. They are lucky to be the subject of your thoughts and words. And if they never happen to read it they will go on without knowing the beauty they triggered, even through pain. Besides, the line among the two is as thin as a thread.

  2. Funny how perspective makes everything so relative. I would never dare to write this if I thought there was a slim chance they ever read it. Not out of fear of exposure (maybe I’m concealingly lying a tad), the fear is that of the last line, above the P.S. And no, do not envy. However “centuries” back, the words might look nice, the acts were far from it. If beauty may spring from this we must praise the relativity of perspective!

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