My very words and mere existence fall through on her
As if our whole story, my whole life would have been a dream.
Likely, my dreams of our children and our happy years
Are seen just as real and reasonable as her silence now.
I’ve been loved with a philosopher stone, a mere image
That accepts and calls for admiration, but returns none.
This is warming for the heart for a while of the longest second,
But it turns the lover into a faded image as well.
Staying dead amongst living knows nothing more painful
Because this is how I feel living in your silence.
The thoughts numb the head trying to solve its reason,
But deny every possible explanation.
Either she’s a ghost or I am a fantasy of a dream,
This is more heretic dealing than dividing by zero.
I don’t know who I am, where to belong, while
My world is stuck in your infinite hollow.
Whether you see me, whether you hear me
You don’t recognize my being, and neither I do.
The problem is, while I’m searing from this feeling
That you caused me, I’m still here to love you.