When you are saying so many things
i only pretend that i listen.
i close my mind. I never let any sound in.
i close the door and the window.
something that you cannot see.
i live within like a rat in my own hole.
when you write a lot of things i look at the page.
yet i read nothing there.
i can always pretend again that i am reading for your
own sake, just to give you pleasure.
i still live within the hard cover of my book
i am a dot there.
this is what happens when love is gone.
this is what is really happening.
no fact is changed. Nothing is added.
because you speak too much.
because you write a lot. and so you do not
even notice my presence. you do not feel me anymore.
i only give you what you have given me.
nothing is added, nothing is subtracted.
it is but fair. To each his own. Each world
within is as beautiful as it does not exist.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem