Each of us is hungry with dreams 
and desires, and even though we 
have never really met, I am glad 
we are able to eat at each other’s 
table.

You are the island I can never visit, 
a vacation I never took, a mountain 
I couldn’t climb, a kiss neither of us 
would die for.

We don’t have much, you and I.
There is no time for it, you see, 
no time at all.

Having something, anything, 
is always and only an afterthought 
that grows out of having nothing 
and no one but each other.

We do have the sun and moon. 
At least they are always there, 
but they are never ours. 

They were never for us, no. 

Although we might have a city 
full of sights and sounds and the 
prospect of daily adventures, 
the streets always seem to take us
 in the wrong direction, the hills 
are too high to climb, it seems, 
and there is always a river, yes, 
a river, but no boat. 

I can swim. How about you?

All of this stumbling and fumbling 
about is simply my way of saying 
I tried not to love you.

I failed.