Photo source: https://www.wallpaperflare.com
It would be so easy
to press ‘delete’
if love were a file.
Maybe it can be extracted
from the body
like an organ
that no longer functions.
Here it is, a new experiment
to alleviate the grief.
With the bare hands,
slowly remove the pulsing orb
and throw it into the sky.
There it stays suspended,
far away and cold.
Not dissimilar from any star
that lights serenely
our paths at night.
Yet the wounds never heal,
and every cell from which love
was ripped out merciless
are longing for you.
On the left breast,
just above the heart
the scar is emblazoned forever,
witness of a divine accident
in which we so willingly
got involved.
There is no ‘forwards’
alone.
The World in My Words 