The day after

Remember the email you sent with this (below)? I do. Do you still wonder why I’m confused and writing it off? But it doesn’t matter. Does it?

Love dragged it’s tail of pain,
It’s train of static thorns behind it,
And we closed our eyes so that nothing,
So that no wound could divide us.

This crying is not your eyes fault;
Your hands didn’t plunge that sword;
Your feet didn’t seek this path;
This somber honey found it’s own way to your heart.

When love like a huge wave
carried us, crashed us against the boulder,
It milled us to a single flour;

This sorrow fell into another, sweeter face:
So in an open season of the light
This wounded springtime was blessed.
– Pablo Neruda