She desired; I happened to be in her way.
She kissed me—looking back, Rosalinda, I’m not sure why.
A dog will lick its master, because the dog has nothing to say.
The best “last word” is not to say anything at all.
It was mild. But the sun was low; it was late fall,
We were walking to the train; she said
If the winter was cold this year, she might prefer to die.
She was moody. Suddenly, she would hint our love was dead,
And, since I always doubted her love, I would try
To lighten her mood with words,
And I remember she said strongly, “I don’t trust words.”
I realized, then, and looking back, every day,
Now that our love did finally die, she was right.
I converted. I’m silent towards her. Love has nothing to say.
Nothing you can say to love, or about love, is true;
Love sees everything. They are wrong: love isn’t blind.
Love can be defined this way:
Love is a human bond—when that bond has nothing to say.