Betrayal

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I will never let go.
I will keep you in my arms forever
None shall muster the strength to sever this tie.
God himself could appear before me, begging on his knees for me to let go, and still I will not budge.

I tighten my grip as best I can without hurting you, but maybe hurting you a little, telling myself that if I hold on we will always be together, for you are the purest soul that I have ever had the privilege of being graced with. You illuminate every fiber of my being, and I know that I must be the one to illuminate yours, if only for an instant. You are elegance incarnate, beyond human comprehension. I could stare into your eyes forever and not be aware that I am lost. And if I’m lost, a glimpse at your lips stretching into a smile tell me that everything that is wrong with this planet will be alright. Your smile has that power, and it is therefore your duty to the world to smile more often.

The greats have declared that all good things must come to an end, but who are they to decide the
course of my life, and what makes them so great anyway? They are not the ones who must cope with this senseless deprivation of harmony. They are not the ones that must withstand the white pain emanating from the unscarring tissue of my core, the slow tearing running down my chest. They are not the ones that are bothered by your perfection. Don’t you think you’re a bit selfish? Does one person truly deserve flawlessness?

I must let go.
Never will I be able to forgive myself
But I can’t lay another life to ruin
Certainly not yours
The grip slowly fades
Until I am holding you no more
And after an infinitesimal second I grab you again
Lying to myself that I never let go in the first place
But this hug is a shorter one
We know we must part
For we are too little to be considered in the circumstances of life,
the raging bull that never stops

And we part.
I look at you while I walk instead of looking where I’m walking, a bit dangerous, but who cares anymore? Is there still meaning in being if not with you?
No matter how many inanimate objects I kick on my path of return, they remain inanimate, and do not share this suffering. It is entirely my own. Do you share this burden? Do you feel as I? Are you in pain? As I walk away, asking myself these questions, the words with which I signed off resonate in my mind; “Laila tov yafa sheli.”

I let go, and I can never forgive myself.


This submission is a part of a weekly series of poetry by Omer Cohen titled Open Hearts and Chaos

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This might not be popular opinion, but I believe that in order for art to be optimal, it must be a byproduct of an artist's life, rather than the focus of that artist's life. Only then is it genuine. Art is therefore the tool through which each we can express ourselves, our experiences, our emotions and our deepest thoughts as we live out our individual and shared paths, and the expression itself.

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