I said, I love you…He said, Nothing.
It were if there were just one of each word and the one who used it, used it up.
In the history of language the first obscenity was silence. And it is in that silence I grieve, that his heart could so easily forget…his spirit betray. I miss the Honesty…
Honesty is soft…a smooth fluidity, comforting and drenched with substance.
Once, we drifted through life side by side with complete acceptance of each other. We spoke with passion of music, of art. It was lovely then, this…connection. Once we pretended shyness; now we've grown truly shy, dropping our heads so the eyes cannot be seen. Where did it end? There is no telling.
Honesty is a billowing cloak…translucent white, yet quick to become opaque.
I remember dressing as if for a great engagement…choosing those shoes, this scarf or a tie. Like Cinderella, I reckoned my dreams would materialize; however, I forgot to cast behind my only begotten shoe. And now, when I go by myself to the Well of Loneliness, I sit down and I go through my trouble…when I see the world and do not see my soul…he who has a chestnut shade in his hair.
Honesty is a treasured possession…a flawless mirror in which to admire a flawless reflection.
Several mornings he slept in my bed like a visitation, the gentleness in him like lilies opening in the dawn mist. What I knew in the morning I still believed at nightfall. Like being there in that springtime rain on the other side of the world while love was fading out of him, the stars burning so extravagantly that night that anyone could tell you it would never last.
Honesty has a secret…few know that Honesty likes to contradict and confuse.
I've worn masks a thousand times…I've pretended and it hurt. Having him to take off my mask, to reveal the truth out of me, that gave me happiness. When sadness struck against me, I struggled harder and harder to bring happiness back.
Honesty has an enemy…a mass of torch wielding words with an aim to quash it.
My heart is as black as the sole of a shoe or as the lump of coal that is by the fire; it was he that has left this darkness over my life. He took the moon and the sun…he took my east and my west…he took what is before me and what is behind me.
Honesty is loud…a booming voice that sometimes lessens to a quietly spoken calmness.
It's the same when love comes to an end and people say they knew it was a mistake that everybody said it would never work. That I was old enough to know better. Anything worth doing is, in fact, worth doing badly. But, one can say, we loved…some parts of us loved…and the rest of us will forever remain two persons.
Honesty has no allies…few are prepared to fight for its cause.
He was the wind and I the sea; there is no splendor any more, I have grown listless as the pool beside the shore. But though the pool is safe from storm and from the tide has found surcease, it grows bitterer than the sea, for all its stillness. So the prince has gone…and life continues…but my love for him is not withdrawn.
Honesty is hard…a rough coarseness that is, so often, cold to the touch.
In all Honesty my life has been something out of the ordinary. When I found myself disquieted by his pure and unfamiliar silence, I tried to touch him with a single finger outstretched like a tiny flame. In all Honesty, he's the only person I'm utterly honest with. When we two parted in silence, truly that hour foretold sorrow to this.
Honesty is alive, but can it be found living in the lull in conversation…in the silent responses to questions? Frankly, this verse is completely honest. Like my thumbprint in fresh cement…innocent and easy to form, with a potential for immortality.
This once started as a love poem…before it found itself sitting perplexed and embarrassed while people passed it by without turning their heads.
And so I ask, if I should meet him, after time passes, how should I greet him…
with Honesty…or silence?
