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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=477065" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>You Were The Intimacy</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">You were the intimacy <br>of the things I loved <br>that were so impossibly far away <br>I could never reach out and touch them<br>except by touching you. <br>In the long silence of these past thirty-seven years <br>I have never been able to look at people again <br>the way I used to see them before I met you. <br>There's a fear in the way I love them <br>that I learned <br>from living your absence.<br>A deep black wounded space within <br>that has sadly outgrown the stars<br>like October outlives its fireflies. <br>And every threshold I've crossed ever since <br>has turned into a long road <br>with a precipice at the end of my spinal cord<br>swaying like the first night I met you <br>on the Capilano Suspension Bridge <br>and you said <br>the only way <br>to overcome your fear of falling <br>is to have the courage to jump. <br>And I laughed and said <br>staring into the gorge <br>and the thin silver water down below<br>what's to fear <br>if you know how to fall toward paradise? <br>And you knew right away <br>I was your kind of challenge. <br>And I knew you wanted <br>to sword-dance with razorblades<br>you laid out like the Tarot <br>later back at your place <br>as if you wanted to convince yourself <br>you were still silly enough to believe in tomorrow. <br>The candle beside the cards on the floor <br>didn't turn out to be <br>enough of a lighthouse <br>to warn us of the approaching storm.<br>We were sincere in the darkness<br>for a little while<br>astounded by the expert innocence <br>of our mindless flesh. <br>You shone like the sun at midnight <br>and I came undone like Icarus<br>to prove I was falling <br>without regrets<br>like a spent star <br>into the singularity<br>of a whole new universe <br>where everything that didn't happen in this one <br>came uncannily true in the next<br>for both of us<br>as if we were at last worthy<br>in each others' arms <br>of our own happiness. <br>When happiness is brave <br>it's bliss. <br>And when it's afraid <br>there's nothing sadder <br>than a gift that was never opened. <br>Joy is a warrior that risked hoping<br>there was nothing left dying for. <br>Sorrow comes up with a million reasons. <br>The only way of life <br>is not making a way of life.<br>Nor making <br>not making a way of life <br>a way. <br>One day you just get off the road <br>and start taking the long way home through the starfields.<br>You stop looking in the mirror <br>to see if you still have eyes.<br>For years after your death<br>no matter what I looked at <br>I always saw the same thing.<br>The black clarity <br>of your existential absence <br>staring me in the face <br>without turning me into stone <br>because that would have been mercy.<br>Try how I might <br>I could never quite <br>shut the lid on your coffin<br>or accept <br>that you were buried in me for good <br>or that my blood burned <br>like the infernal red <br>of an emergency exit <br>to show me the way out <br>of heaven and hell<br>by falling on them both<br>like a two-edged sword<br>that killed me deeper into life <br>than your death ever did. <br>Either life's unfair <br>or I'm not man enough <br>to live up to your suicide <br>but I remember how I used to love <br>feeling the weight <br>of the nightstream of your hair <br>as it poured through my hand <br>like a landscape that could feel <br>for the first time in a long time <br>water running in the dry creekbeds of its lifelines. <br>Things woke up. <br>And I saw the flowers <br>among the thorns <br>that had been guarding them <br>like the secret names of God<br>you had to know <br>to get past the burning angels <br>through the gates <br>of your sad return to Eden alone. <br>The eloquence of your flesh <br>when you walked on the earth <br>as if your heart danced to your blood <br>like an old song we both knew <br>now a broken harp of bone, <br>a wounded guitar, <br>someone laid down for good. <br>A prophetic skull <br>without a future <br>anyone can foretell.<br>The full moon going down <br>like a spare penny<br>into a dry wishing well. <br>Me looking at the dark hills <br>like the contours of your corpse laid out <br>under a collapsed tent <br>as they wheeled you into the ambulance <br>to spend your first vast impossibly long night in the morgue<br>among the dead <br>who don't catch their breath<br>or break their bodies like bread <br>alone in the stillness<br>that can't distinguish one death from another.<br>However I wept for you <br>all the hard bitter baffled tears <br>all the sweet radiant wellsprings <br>that washed the dust like stars <br>off the wings of the birds<br>that had laboured to carry the souls of the dead <br>far to the west<br>when I remembered <br>how blessed I really was <br>that things had been <br>so beautifully dangerous for awhile.<br>And all the dark fathomless watersheds of lucidity <br>I drowned in like a eye in a grail <br>looking for butterflies in a suicide note.<br>All the black pearls <br>the diamond skulls<br>the eclipsed chalices <br>all the precious jewels of my grieving <br>that death hoarded underground <br>nothing in the end <br>but nameless water<br>frozen between the cracks <br>of a gravestone as old as the moon. <br>I remember how I loved your ice-blue eyes<br>and how they burned with an Arctic clarity <br>you had to dress warmly for <br>if you didn't want to suffer from frost-bite<br>but there's more nightshade in them now <br>than chicory <br>when I look into them like tundral flowers<br>and the light turns hurtful and eerie<br>when I recall how the melting snow <br>washed itself clean of itself<br>all those years ago <br>when we didn't know <br>what all this meant. <br>It's of little relevance <br>that we once loved each other <br>the way we did <br>and once you've exhausted <br>the meaning of signs <br>like galaxies expanding <br>ever more deeply into space <br>less significance.<br>What does it look like from Mars? <br>Your death was a koan <br>not a fortune-cookie<br>and the koan broke me <br>like a man it couldn't understand <br>rationally. <br>There is no scar for you.<br>You will always be <br>this open wound inside of me.<br>When I look at the stars <br>I can't dissociate beauty from absurdity.<br>I cherish their clarity<br>as something that can't be <br>contaminated by my eyes<br>when they're nothing <br>but two black holes in space<br>a snake-bite of the light<br>in the middle of my face <br>like a colon without the following: <br>the kind of faith <br>that makes what little is left<br>so incommensurably greater than what's been lost. <br>I can see the blue morning glory in the garden<br>as if moonlight had turned to skin <br>just to feel what it's like to flower <br>but I can't forget the frost <br>that fell like your death over all of it<br>when I went so numb <br>space turned into glass <br>and time pulled the blind down on the window. <br>I closed my eyes like a mirror <br>content to let the stars make sense <br>of their own reflections.<br>I gave up on directions<br>and burned my starmaps <br>and followed who I was <br>without caring what I became. <br>Absolutes of ice <br>spread like cataracts <br>over the relativities of the river<br>that went on flowing <br>as if nothing had changed<br>and my life was still a dream without eyelids.<br>A ghost would be easier to deal with <br>than the fact <br>that you don't exist anymore<br>except as bare bones <br>denuded of the world <br>like yarrow sticks <br>thrown before the Book of Changes.<br>But then I expect <br>you'd exorcise yourself <br>at a suggestion of the night <br>that the stars would be so much brighter <br>if you only blew out the candleflame. <br>You'd do it just to see <br>if things got better.<br>You'd leave me in the dark again <br>staring at the stars <br>like white ink <br>on a black loveletter <br>you left unsigned <br>as you disappeared into death <br>like your last breath on a cold windowpane. <br>I've long since forgiven you my solitude. <br>I've long since forgiven you <br>the severity of the wisdom <br>that hardened my eyes <br>like diamonds in the darkness <br>that could cut through anything <br>except my attachment to you. <br>I have forgiven you <br>for the way I have grown through suffering <br>to realize <br>how much I owe your death <br>and the terrible eyeless abyss that followed it <br>like an enlightened insight<br>into the impersonal nature of compassion. <br>I have forgiven you <br>the way I am spontaneously compelled <br>to love a world that is so estranged from me<br>I feel like water on the moon <br>trying to imagine what it must be like <br>to fall like rain on the intimate earth <br>with a reasonable expectation<br>of coming up flowers<br>that weren't destined <br>to be laid on your grave. <br>I've gone grey gathering them up<br>and bringing them to you <br>like bouquets of paints and brushes<br>that are ready at hand <br>should you ever wish <br>to pick them up again <br>and show me what the world looks like <br>without a body for a picture-frame <br>as you play the part of the upstart genius <br>who lived the black farce of creative pain <br>like the agony of the wick <br>burning at the stake like a heretic <br>between the flesh of the wax<br>and the spiritual aspirations of the candleflame <br>thrusting spears into space at the stars <br>as if the only way you could ever know God <br>if you ever met up<br>was by the scars.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Patrick+White">Patrick White</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=477065" data-title="You Were The Intimacy de Patrick White" data-description="You were the intimacy 
of the things I loved 
that were so impossibly far away 
I could never reach out and touch them
except by touching you. 
In the long silence of these past thirty-seven years 
I have never been able to look at people again 
t..."></div>
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