- A revelation in a huge, silent place -

I had been wrong
and naive about love.

I had made mistakes
until,
in the loneliest place ever,
I met you.

We had to talk, to feel
that we were both still alive,
but we didn't.
Instead, we found a house
that had a sour smell.

I used my nails
to scratch the old wallpaper
and you carried dusty books
from one huge room
to another.

My fingers were cut and dirty,
your back was hurt and bent.

Then it happened:
we saw the dead cats,
in the basement,
jammed behind walls,
stuck in plastic bags,
lodged for eternity
in decaying brickwork,
all over the filthy place.

The otherwordly stench
finally made us realize
-how death could reach our senses,
-how the still worked its way as a mortal disease.

It was revealed to us
in a house that had been owned
by a crazy-creepy-cat-lady.

I looked into your eyes
yearning to finally break the silence,
until words dropped out of my lips
as a healing fluid,
and your callous hand
reached for mine.

Once or twice
we'd made mistakes,
but now we both knew
that we wouldn't let our lives
rot in a plastic bag.

We needed to talk
and breathe in
the fresh morning air.