Do you remember walking late at night
through dark, deserted streets? I brushed away
a lock of hair that fell over your eyes.
We talked some, but it was in our silence
that we each felt a little less alone.
Later, we told each other fairy tales.
I liked the Snow Queen, you preferred the tales
where the robber bridegroom seduces night
blind maidens. Where the hero ends alone.
(I'm your Gerda, my Kay. Don't go away).
After the stories and tea the silence
crept in. You stood there, averting your eyes.
And I wanted to close those lovely eyes
with kisses, like some prince from fairy tales.
Instead, we each went to bed in silence.
I stared up at the ceiling all that night,
some things are too near but too far away.
You said you're afraid you'll end up alone.
I'll follow you, I thought. We'll be alone
together. You missed the look in my eyes --
the devotion. You search the distance, away
from me. But the stories in fairy tales
Are never true. They're just lights in the night,
They're just songs to cover the long silence.
My dearest friend in speech and in silence
maybe we're meant to be always alone
walking together (apart) through the night
talking of this and that. But why your eyes
inspire me to tell fantastic tales
Is something I can't answer. You're away
at school and, in my fashion, I'm away
too. When we talk on the phone the silence
deafens. Sometimes you regale me with tales
of other grad students, each one alone
with their genius. I remember your eyes,
and your voice still leads me through the long night.
One night, I'll scald the milk and we'll tell tales;
we'll break the silence and the world. Your eyes
won't look away from me. We'll be alone. |
