For Clayton- an adaptation of a poem by Pablo Neruda
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example, "The night is shattered,"
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
He loved me, and sometimes I loved him too.
What does it matter that my love could not keep him.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
It is the same night, whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love him, that's certain, but how I loved him.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch his hearing.
Another's. He will be another's. Like my kisses before.
His voice. His bright body. His infinite eyes.
I no longer love him, that's certain, but maybe I love him.
Love is short, forgetting is so long.
Though this be the last pain he makes me suffer
and these the last verses I write for him.
Write, for example, "The night is shattered,"
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
He loved me, and sometimes I loved him too.
What does it matter that my love could not keep him.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
It is the same night, whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love him, that's certain, but how I loved him.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch his hearing.
Another's. He will be another's. Like my kisses before.
His voice. His bright body. His infinite eyes.
I no longer love him, that's certain, but maybe I love him.
Love is short, forgetting is so long.
Though this be the last pain he makes me suffer
and these the last verses I write for him.