I never know if there is a next life. If there is one, will I meet you again? To be honest, I prefer this is the end. Because no matter how sweet our love is, there will be more bile. I am incapable to be a knight to keep fighting for us. So, I choose to be a deserter.
I don’t know how much time do I have to live. I don’t know how long I will go on loving you. I still love how you appear in my mind. I still love your sound especially the way you speak. I even miss your once angry voice. But you are so calm and peaceful these days. And I too, love the content you.
I am willing to be an infatuated man loving you in humble distance. Perhaps for you, I am a masochist, a lower rib, a self fulfilled devastation. There is no time table for our love. Yet, I am counting down the days. I am giving all I can while you know I am a hypocrite.
I am glad that I don’t look forward to the next life. I am satisfied to surrender to a woman like you, a love like us. There are not enough next lives to match this passion, this madness and this loyalty in its totality. I have enough material to write love poetry to make up for the missing kisses and passionate nights.
I walk to the end of my life with worn out shoes in the company of your divine shadow and angelic sound.