Know this,
inflicting needless torment unto you
is just about the last thing that I wish to do.
Why do you think then
that I write these words of love to you,
all night and day?
Because some things I simply cannot dare to outright say…

If only through the silence, through the noise,
through text, however sparse, through gesture…
If only I could hear your inner voice.
If only I could place my finger on your pulse
To feel what happens in your heart.
To make acquaintance with your truest wish
To be a knower of your pathologic doubt.

Alas, the fog of war that lies between us is too thick.
It makes my heart ache and it makes my stomach sick..
The fact that maybe there are truths I simply cannot know.
The fact that maybe there are inklings in your heart,
which you would never dare to show.

Wherein lies ambiguity
Therein lies hope..
However foolish and profane
However crooked and insane.
Beneath my veil of madness there is naught but love..
Pure and unadulterated.
Real as it comes, not fabricated, as some may lead you to believe…
What lies beneath your veil, alas, I cannot dare to know.
Hard though I wish for you to show
Hard though I beckon.
All that is left for me to do
is but to reckon…

Whose fault is it that fates and muses whisper in this hermit’s ear?
It is their whispers, never yours, that I still hear…
but just as often as this hermit’s fates and muses guide the way
they lead the blinded anchorite astray…