Clareified

You made my mind up for me
When you started to ignore me
If you’re over me, I’m already over you
If it’s all been done, what is left to do
How can you hang up if the line is dead
If you wanna walk, I’m a step ahead
If you’re moving on, I’m already gone
If the light is off then it isn’t on
-Hilary Duff

I’m not one for scenes, or goodbyes, or conversations. It’s not that I’m tough or hard — it’s that I’m chicken. Hats off to those “in your face” people, that shit is hard, yo.
Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE drama. I grew up on soap operas and TV and sappy movies. If I could, I’d love to slap someone across the face or throw a drink at them. How kick ass awesome would that be? But I can’t do it.
Chicken.
So, I’ve become a fade away kinda gal. Exeunt stage left, as the playwrights say. I’ve never been sure if that’s exactly what Neruda was after in this poem. But it’s always been my take away. Love/relationships are self sustaining. Those where one loves the other more, other needs the other more are already finished, one person just doesn’t know it yet. It feeds on itself, the minute any part of it dies away, it all dies away. No conversations or timeouts or teary goodbyes. If you’ve left me at the shore, know that at that very hour, that very minute, I’ve set off for another land. I love the line: If suddenly you forget me/ do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
The connection is severed just that fast. Boom. Snap. Cut.
But if you’re steady and true, so too, will I be. No muss, no fuss.
It’s perfect really. In reality it’s not as clean as all that, obviously, but if you try to get as close as you can, well, let’s just say, it’s good enough.

If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine

This entry was posted by Dawn Summers on Wednesday, September 23rd, 2009 at 12:03 am and is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.