Regret.

It is much too late, you said once to me. And I never answered back, not even the slightest word. Now I regret it madly. Endlessly. For not taking into account your beautiful voice, for following the fires that burned in other places of unknown men and unfamiliar worlds to you while you were indeed beside me, more real than anything, untouched like the sky.

It is much too late, you said once to me. Who would have known back then that you would be right. I couldn’t see it. I never had a habit of gazing into the future. I am not one of those people. I have little power, if any. I have no strength or the moral courage needed. But your hands, I haven’t taken them in a while, maybe I could take a look at your lifeline, on your porcelain palm. Would it be a surprise to find out how abruptly it ends? I fear I would ignore that sign. I am not one of those people.

Nothing worth attention. Just a lonely path stumped and ending in its way. Nothing to get excited about. It didn’t look like the line above your shiny eye, the way your skin bends and the way your hair dances in the wind. Site of the fire turns to dark.

It is much too late, you said once to me. I could not imagine it, my time never ran out on me. Who would have known that yours was mercilessly being drawn to its last breath?

And you did said that, you said that it was much too late, I am not imagining, I hope.
Nevertheless, I didn’t answer to your call. We were both silent. Agreeing to our contract of collective amnesia. And now… now there is not a word in this universe that could be ever enough, it could not bare my thoughts of you. Now I am loosing the little strength I had.

And I close my eyes. But didn’t say a word. I hope that means that my own fate is still innocent and free. Unproven guilt.