I wonder many times, oh-stranger-like-me,
Of how it would be
If you perhaps come across these lines
And smile (or perhaps shed a tear) and think
This heart's so much like me.
If I would write of how love passed me by –
And you would not question why
I was thinking of throwing myself to the ground
From the terrace of a building.
If I would mention how love returns –
And yet incessantly burns,
With a sharpness and sting
That makes all wonder on the need of this thing.
Would you, stranger-like-me, think of this?
Have you hoped for immortal bliss
And settled for earthly disillusionment?
A neglectful youth arising from abuse –
Of what I have gained and what I shall lose?
Do you – would you – have any reckoning?
I have loved again and now I find
That love alone can torture the mind;
By the lack of words or a stronger voice,
Have you ever had the pressure of choice?
Have you ever thought he never wrote back?
What didn't I give? What did I lack?
Now, I have loved again. Do you think:
What if it all passes again in vain…?
Then did you scowl and write
In your way of scribbling down black on white,
That being held by some one once again
Is worth so much of all this pain?
If you do feel even the slightest bit
Of the emotions my heart knits…
Know also, stranger-like-me,
I write for eternity.