So far and so close
In the deep silence of my mornings there is nothing as close, nor as far as you. You are as close to me as each drop of honey is to the other in the honeycomb of a hive, as close as Alpha Centaur is to the earth, like an emotion of a behavior.
You are as far as we are able to feel, as the shadow is from my body, as is the death of a birth.
Because far and near is as much a lie as it is big and small, as possible and impossible in time.
If by thinking of you would be within reach, if by wanting yourself outside you are getting closer and closer, by feeling that we vibrate with the same things, with the small details, with the face of a child, with a cloudy day, with a human history.
But no matter how close the earth and the sun are, they have never collided, not day and night or black and white.
You are still there spinning like the flames around the bonfire, which seems to fly away, but they always stay, until they are extinguished and extinguished and no one knows what they become, if in white ashes or in ghosts that the night swallows.
You are so far that I cannot touch you and so close that not for a second can I forget you.