Many have the power to gift you joy.
The power to cause pain is the privilege of few.
The Chosen.
Is it a wonder then -
That
I prize it over everything you’ve ever given?
For something I will never use – it really is far too dear!
If it belonged to someone else in the past – even that is
too much to bear!
Impossible to share.
Every pang of loss you feel for the
dead, is a live stab in my heart.
The broken
fragments of your past leave scratches on my being.
Ghosts may
not be real; but they are evidence of what once lived.
I can
exorcise the ghost, but who can wipe the lifetime?
Every
living moment is shrouded by the memory of the dead.
For those who feel passion – every passion is exclusive.
It will always be all or nothing.
You may find this odd – unacceptable even.
But the sense of your longing incompletes
my belonging.