Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, ‘The night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.’

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another’s. She will be another’s. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

Tonight I Can Write – Pablo Neruda

today i went to thalia to look for books and i saw pretty covers of neruda’s twenty love poems and a song of despair as well as niffeneger’s the time traveller’s wife and i could not resist but to buy it; i bought amis’ house of meetings last month and i think i will make this a habit, at least a book a month, and i will soon have my very own library in switzerland.

i am an impulsive buyer at times and i bought neruda only because i loved the title and the cover and it was a pleasant surprise that when i opened it i found one of my favourite poems; i was reading journals online and i saw something that made me recall too many things and it was appropriate to find this again i suppose. what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

(or, as amis says, what doesn’t kill you makes you weaker and returns to kill you again.)

there is much truth in lyric verse, because verse falls to the soul like dew to pasture.
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work has been horrendous these days; a colleague was missing in action on saturday and today and we were severely understaffed on both times when the restuarant was compeletely full and it was only later at night that we realised that she was admitted to the mental hospital for work related stress.

there is much ambivalence about this knowledge, and it puzzles me greatly because no one deserves this, even though her working methods contrast completely from mine.

these days, i think i am getting too detached for my own good.

there was one less hour in the day today and it marked the reversal of a time in november; days seem like palindromes and maybe that’s how it is, a teardrop of a punctuation and everything invariably comes to an end.

()

there are some things in life that you will always wish for, and to mdm teo ah lee i wish you health, happiness and longevity because you deserve all of this and more.
——————–

please let me come back in time to cook for you, you’ve always done so for me so please at least let me do it once for you.

please.
——————–

you will live till 88 years old, that’s what achilles said and i have no reason to doubt it; do you?

it is only 3 more months till i return.

i overslept for work today, and my chef said to me:

“so, did you have pleasants dreams eh?”

“haha not really, i never have good dreams, that’s why i managed to wake up then.”

and it’s true, i almost never have decent dreams; i wake up either covered in sweatdrops, and the rest of the day would be dark, melancholic, quiet and gloomy. it has been that way since i was young, and i don’t think it will change in the near future; if dreams are a window to your subconscious self i think i am in major trouble.
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everything seems like a slide show these days; life is like a collage of deja vu and sometimes i wonder, how will my life end then.

silence, and questions that will not be answered until it’s too late, too irrevocable.

tragedies of every sort can happen. a boy rushing to meet the love of his young life would spend weeks planning for his train trip funded by his own hard earned money; it will be delayed by snow, and he will be killed in the ride, and nobody will know of this story because sometimes that’s how it is.

tragedies of every sort can happen.

it is spring, the flowers on the yard at the corner of my apartment told me.

but i still tear whenever i reach home; it is still too cold, too wintry, too silent.
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one will never cease to be aghast at the quantity of selfishness a human can possess; a chinese national who applied for an internship at an architectural firm in basel and moved in last friday boasted of finding an even bigger, better firm on the first day we met; the next day he was told he doesn’t have a working permit and could not stay and thus for the next four days he bounced around like a leech offering his passport as a guarantee for the use of my laptop in the wee hours of the morning (8 am) to send emails to find a replacement tenant. yesterday afternoon, he left without a final word to anyone with 3 kg of the thai fragrant rice i told him on saturday he could have some while he settled in before buying his own provisions.

who the fuck eats 3kg of rice grains in a week.
—————-

the ocean breathes salty, modest mouse and sun kil moon hum to me.