Ah, but I ache, I ache. I just finished reading someone’s work that made me feel like I’ll never be the same again. My soul is bruised, I have been wounded in the sweetest of ways, and I don’t know how to go from here. My steps falter. I long to go back to myself a few minutes ago, a few hours ago, a few days ago, before I was irrevocably changed, but a voice whispers, Isn’t it what you wanted? Isn’t this what was meant to happen, when you turned to that page?
You Will Hear Thunder
You will hear thunder and remember me,
And think: she wanted storms. The rim
Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson,
And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.
That day in Moscow, it will all come true,
when, for the last time, I take my leave,
And hasten to the heights that I have longed for,
Leaving my shadow still to be with you.