Don’t read the poem, read the poet

I won’t waste my time telling you all the things you already know. This time, when you read this note, meet me in the same place as always. I will stand there with my broken heart and the same hopes of the reckless young soul I used to be – believe it or not, some things have changed profoundly. When your eyes meet mine, you’ll know.

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What kind of person wakes up thinking about the imminent death and all the usual mockery of life? What kind of person distance themselves from the light to become best friends with the darkness?

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Let this be my most genuine confession, though erroneously selfless: I saw no darkness at all while you were here. But the poet’s soul feeds on affliction and nostalgia, on moments from the past that turn into melancholy and, later, into fuel for more and more poems.