Untitled, as you have changed from decades to centuries and still remained without a name, so have I wondered around all through these years in search for your namesake.
When you were a woman, I was a shy sophomore. I was unforgivingly romantic and shuddered at the idea of taking my clothes off. I was punch drunk in love and I couldn’t put my feet together at any instant.
When you were anonymous friends and fleeting lovers, I was bright, aspiring and pompous. I was a trickster, cheating over cards on the table. I moved along with the lights and the gypsies.
When you were the man, I was the woman. I made a home and lit it with lamps. I gathered and waited. loved and remained at my place, stationary. I suffered irrevocably.
Untitled, I have left with a note. In it I promised you love and remembrance. I am not a seamstress otherwise I would have sewn my biddings together instead of making them into a bundle with a knot.
In all these years as you changed from man to woman to life and to me, I could not name you as you. But all my biddings, my hopeless romances, my letters, my poems remain yours undoubtedly.
Keep them. They are for keepsake.