סובב סבב

Walk with me along this road and feel the chill of death seep into your bones. There is a fog and twisting path, there is a scream far away, and here we are, you and I, all alone, weaving our way between the quiet, sad tenements and past the lightless windows.

Have I a heart? you ask. Perhaps I have. A secret heart, maybe? Hidden somewhere dark that no one can find, that no hand may touch? If I have hidden my heart, believe me, it is most audaciously hidden; it is the glare of neon that blinds you, its neon advertisement.

I am all heart, all exposed nerve, all feeling and love and passion—or was. I was a flame, but now I am burnt up. See my heart, if you can, see the pile of ashes I have for a soul; I have not the heart to hoard them. They are cast upon the four winds, and where the spirit wills, they go.

If I have caused you tears, that was just the dust of my heart in your eyes. It is a broken, shattered thing, and when people—when you saw it, you asked me if I even had one.

If I love anything anymore, it’s you, and for what it’s worth, not that any of this matters, I’ll keep it in my heart where everyone can see it if they don’t blow dust in their eyes first.

I wish I could dry your eyes in this forgotten alley, but that deluge is only memory now. Others leave their flowers at your home or your grave; I leave mine here, away from the crowds, alone with my heart, alone where my heart died.

Requiescat in Pace, my love.