I loved you from the start
but did not know it,
dared not risk it, was precautious
and would never take for granted
that you would love me in return.
Our differences are unbridgeable,
and every time I thought I reached you
something happened to increase our difference
and to almost force our separation,
like an alienating demon haunting us
with no deserved or righteous fate.
Thus our security remained our friendship
as the only platform of our association
and which fortunately is impeccable.
So we at least have something
to unite us and keep us together constantly,
indefinitely and perhaps forever.
Is this true love,
and the sentimental love a lie,
a fake, illusion and a self-deceit,
like any drunken state of high elation,
passing over, fading into nothing,
while true love needs firmer basis?
Practically our love has never worked,
but it is there, existing, thriving,
like two souls grown into one
while this mortal flesh
becomes a secondary issue
which we well can leave to rot.