My hand remembers

My hand remembers intensely.

It sweats mist.

In the depth of the scratches, you turn.

With the tear that was not forgotten, dripping.

The sweetest weight on the calloused fingers

of my soul.

Blindly. Slowly, it falls on the empty floor of silence.

And of my agonizing soul.

My heart beats. Loud.

It breaks the mind's hysterical silence.

I will laugh. No, I want to cry.

I don't know why. Surely I tremble.

Perhaps that is how it happened... Do I remember well?

That you said... Wait. Nothing ends.

Look at the rain. It always returns with a different soul.

We will find elsewhere what we lost together.

My mind, swamp. Dense.

In the dim street light, I imagine you leaving.

Your face is pale, like a sail.

Drifting in the rain, it seems to evaporate.

My own rain blurs my vision.

Of eyes that believe no more.

I look into the beam of the lamp... Dream or life...

Then your hand finds mine.

You have left, but you are here.

Blindly. Fingers cold. Clinging. Hard.

Fear leaves. The rain beats with fury.

Then stops. The window was wet, and my heart.

My hand hurts. From the tear that became blood.

I don't move. I won't move. Only this.