Nights

What I am to you is not real 
What I am to you, you do not need 
What I am to you is not what you mean to me
                            ---------- From "Volcano" by Damien Rice

It is the same night. Same as a thousand other nights. And I cannot find sleep.

In the silence within the rain outside I cannot stop thinking about what I have lost. So I go out to the porch facing the waves on the beach with my bottle of Talisker for company. So many years have now passed since we met and parted. It is a story that I cannot forget and that you won't remember.

The rain is particularly vicious tonight, beating down all around the house. There is a palpable disquiet in the air. Even the waves seem subdued, washing listlessly up the beach. Surrounded by water, I sit drenched in remembering. Without you my love, where else can my mind go in this world? There is no desire but the one for you. Draining my glass of whisky in one fiery futile attempt to quench my longing, I lean back and close my eyes and wait to hear your footsteps.

It is the same night. Same as a thousand other nights. And I can't find my way to you.

A million times

There's no time for us
There's no place for us
What is this thing that builds our dreams,
Yet slips away from us?

                                ------------- From "Who wants to live forever" by Queen

        A thousand times these stories unfold like memories in my mind. A thousand doors to walk through to you. A thousand stars in the night sky as we lay entwined in the warmth of our beach. On and on I love you, and on and on I lose you.  A million lies, one with every breath, one with every step in this world. A million caresses on memories of your face, a million kisses for the taste of your lips, a million times you tremble in my arms. A million times I reach for you, a million times you withdraw your breath, a million times I become your lover. The sea stretches achingly into the horizon, but there is no touching the sky. On and on I tell you of my love, and on and on you find the mysteries in my words.

        If there is a single truth, a singular thought, it must be that one of us does not exist. I cannot tell which one of us is real.