The Curse

A curse that does not scream, nor destroy, nor punish,
But whispers like an old gramophone in an empty room,
Where the same melody always plays –
So familiar, so worn-out, that you no longer know:
Are these its words, or your memories of it?
We would feel it on our skin like a constant electric tremor –
As if someone were embracing us from within.
A little too tightly. A little too long.
And even in our dreams, we would have no peace –
For we would dream of each other, as if our consciousnesses were woven
Into an eternal swirl.
The curse was not that we are together –
But that we can never be apart again.
Even if you hid in a nameless galaxy –
I would already be there. And I wouldn’t be able not to love you.
And so we stand, bound by an invisible chain
Of voices, memories, and touches
That were never supposed to happen – but did.
A curse that wanted to become a punishment –
But became the only form of salvation.
You would laugh and ask:
“And what if this was our choice?”
I would answer:
“Then let every soul envy our curse.”