You sent me letters with a postmark from Chicago that winter he left you, disgusted by the sight of your strength in reverse.
You sent me 3x4 Moleskines with collages of flowers, dead people, words that meant more than validation or a congratulations.
“Here is a CD for when you are empty, here is another for when you are happy.
Play this when you’re driving in another state, lost by the unfamiliarity of the skies at night and the sounds of your friends drifting asleep in the back.”
I gave you the most pieces, breaking shards at first until you started giving me chunks that I wanted to carry.
I waited that winter for the the summer that we would spend together listening to our favorite artists right next to the waters that would take us to the burial places of our heroes and the churches where the most souls tied themselves with promises.
3000 years later, we still don’t know why the Minoan palaces were destroyed.
Na Man Behooda Girde Kocha | Rumi
Na man behooda girde kocha
Wa bazaar megardam
Mazaj-e-ashiqee daram paye
Khudaya rahm kon bar man
Pareeshan waar megardam
Khata karam gonahgaram
Ba hale zaar megardam
Sharabe showq menosham
Ba girde yaar megardam
Sukhan mastana megoyam
Walay hooshyaar megardam.
-No I am not roaming aimlessly
around the streets and bazaar
I am a lover searching for his beloved
God have mercy on me
I am walking around troubled
I have done wrong and sinned
and am walking around wounded
I have drunk the wine of desire
and am strolling around beloved
Though I may seem drunk
I am quite sober.