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“If this turns to friendship, it only means That one of us will suffer. That when we meet after the worst of endings, There will only be this skein of words between us— Most of them for boredom, fewer for loneliness— Rising out of our mutual space of breath, leaving Behind a bluer sky each moment of departure. And one of us will cling on to its blue, Hung on partings like a muted cloud, while The other rides on a wing of word away from here.” — Cyril Wong
If this turns to friendship, it only means
That one of us will suffer.
That when we meet after the worst of endings,
There will only be this skein of words between us—
Most of them for boredom, fewer for loneliness—
Rising out of our mutual space of breath, leaving
Behind a bluer sky each moment of departure.
And one of us will cling on to its blue,
Hung on partings like a muted cloud, while
The other rides on a wing of word away from here.