Something still remains

 
Something will still remain, like a palm-sized, tiny fragrant ember under the slumbering ashes, an amber heart preserved in wall recesses, a romantic holy lock on the bridge of sighs. A single mirror, which is split in two with the edge of a knife, by a whole series of secret glances and betraying gestures. Even a shining lady's profile, with whom we could still believe that we could fall in love with pure, faithful words.

Something in us remains ineradicably, as the footprints written in the sand by the hero-lovers from Time slowly recede, the coveted petrified snail house. In the mahogany shadows, your girlish head is tilted to the side, when you are thinking about your zigzagging thoughts.

You can send the ever-beautiful shine of your superstitious doe-eye as a gift, while the ashen-honest memory of your face was half-fading. Your imagined family life, the laughing stomping of your children while they build a sandcastle and you remember.

Will there still be my Muse poems written for you on your desk, or did you throw my piles of paper, which you considered pathetic, into the fire long ago in your unworthy jealousy?!

Now you're leaving too, and you're leaving me alone forever. You prepare for your role as a manipulator, with which you deceive everyone and twist them around your fingers, amidst pink dreams and clouds of plum jam. With your smuggled, childish secrets, as if you were simultaneously rebelling and organizing an incitement in your inner soul, you cross your own, well-guarded borders with a gazelle escape.

You will become a grandmother when you finally realize: love, love, just like the Everything that welds our two souls together, cannot have rules of the game or material means!