Forgive me—tonight, forgive me,
before you go,
even if it’s the last thing you ever do.
So that when my eyes no longer find you,
nor my ears hear your voice,
nor my words reach across the silence,
perhaps… you won’t hate me so much.
Forgive me—tomorrow, forgive me,
when you gaze at the absurd immensity of the sky
and fly far—so far—from me.
So that when my skin no longer feels yours,
nor my lips brush against your own,
at least your eyes—those radiant eyes,
with their frost-laced melancholy,
so deep, so distant—
won’t remember the fleeting moments
you were ever near me.
Forgive me—also, forgive me
when your feet touch ground in lands unknown,
and the sea breeze caresses the kaolin of your skin,
so that in the bruma,
you do not feel the weight of my absence.
Forgive me…
for even in losing you,
I will remain unable
to forgive myself.