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There is much I owe to those I do not love. The relief in accepting they are closer to another. Joy that I am not the wolf to their sheep. My peace be with them for with them I am free, and this, love can neither give, nor know how to take. I don't wait for them from window to door. Almost as patient as a sun dial, I understand what love does not understand.
I forgive
what love would never have forgiven
Between rendezvous and letter
no eternity passes
only a few days or weeks
My trips with them always turn out well
Concerts are heard
Cathedrals are toured
Landscapes are distinct
And when seven rivers and mountains
come between us
they are rivers and mountains
well known from any map
It is thanks to them that I live in three dimensions, in a non-lyrical and non-rhetorical space, with a shifting, thus real, horizon. They don't even know how much they carry in their empty hands. 'I don't owe them anything', love would have said on this open topic.
“This being human is a guest house. Every morning is a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor...Welcome and entertain them all. Treat each guest honorably. The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in. Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.”
“I closed my mouth and spoke to you in a hundred silent ways.”