...........

Because I was taught to fashion words to be more than just a series of letters joined together, like carriages stringed and pulled forth by the train of our desires in the great railway of life.

Because I was able to discern that words become nothing more than just mere graffiti, more painful as an empty page is to a poet when they are bloodless, just mere outlines inscribed somewhere to lead someone else nowhere.

Because I have seen how words, brittle like dry sticks could serve logs feeding bonfires of madness, shame and passions.

Because words are the last to go, even in memory, I do not want to leave you replicas or forgeries. Because I cannot always be with you but only my words, they are fragments of who I am so that you will never be alone.

I am chasing many of my stray words. Lost as they are, those who would find them would also be so. And as they were born from me, so they should also die with me.

In moonlight or sunlight I wave my fingers, as if invisible tendrils connect my hands to my words I set forth to walk beside you. Remembered or forgotten by you, they know who they are, and will continue to do so, to endure the price of living, and that is dying with each and every moment. Like I do.

Because I am my words, so have I believed that you are also yours.

And I am waiting.