…and I love him, and he’s dying.

amedeo-modigliani-portrait-of-a-man-with-hat
(c) Amedeo odigliani

“Will thou be gone so soon?”

“Yeah.” He said.

That killed me there a thousand times.

“But Love, it’s not yet half the ride!”

All of that was my mind’s play. None of it ever happened. None of it ever will. He and I have never even met. And never shall we.

He has cancer, he is dying,

this is one thing I can’t deny,

And yet I wish I could.

A fellow blogger who came my way, one fine sunny day. Little did I know what he really looked like, but little did I care. I would appreciate if my readers and the members of the jury would mark that my love for him is as saintly as imaginable.

When I think about the years to come,

he is missing from the picture.

He would have turned but just a past,

long gone, forgotten, away from heart,.

Once he said, “do think of me,

when I will be dead.”

My Love, you will be in my heart,

all my life ahead.

Perhaps I wept a little, for the ink was run with tears, I wiped them with the back of my sleeves, when I realized that there was no cloth to wipe away the tears that my heart cried.

He that wears his hat with glee,

little knows this love in me.

And never shall he.

But Love, long your ride be.

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6 thoughts on “…and I love him, and he’s dying.

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