she was always there
in the back of my mind

the woman nobody knew

I never seen her again
A cold night
After few but all so warm
She never said why
She never said what it was
That turned her sour
That made her dislike

I always felt it was my writing, that she didn’t understand the words that came from my pen
Not through lack of intelligence for she taught me that even the most stunning woman you have ever seen can also be the most intelligent you have ever met


It was through




I wrote about her, about paintings that passed me by every day
paintings of dancers
Paintings of beauty
About long blacks
Intellectual tennis
About stars not moving
But ground instead

And I didn’t write about her as well

I guess she was always out of reach, despite the reality of me reaching her

The hurt isn’t in the missing for there wasn’t enough of her to miss
Though in time there would have been
The hurt is in the lack of knowledge
The lack of reason
The lack of explanation

I am evil
But not that evil
I am crazy
But not that crazy
I can be selfish
But never that selfish

I will die without her knowing
As she will without understanding
Or explaining

That woman nobody knew

Yet I know it was some sort of anger, that hurt is something hard to get through, and trust something hard to give, and believing, believing in something unknown, someone, well…

The Middle East is coming
And going
Like the slight catch of an autumn breeze
Or the bullet shot from a gun in a bricked alleyway
And even these pathetic words
About the woman nobody knew…



image source Tumblr

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