Between the extremes
How come that love is always either or,
an overwhelming inundation
sweeping everything and everyone away
or drying up for thirst
in smothering desertification
leaving you alone in languishment
pathetically miserable in abandonment?
– and then the flood comes back again
and drowns you in its force.
How come you never find a middle way
in love, which seems to make impossible
whatever compromise, as if it must be all or nothing,
and if love is not all yours she is your enemy.
I’m sorry, but I can’t accept that.
If love is so impossible in her extreme demands,
I’ll rather do without it
than risk ending up all torn apart
by shipwrecks in atrocious storms
and smouldering consuming desert mirages.