You boast, sir, of an intelligence you do not possess,
of secrets you keep, and lives you have lived,
which are not yours.
Perhaps it is the sudden decline from the graceful warmth of Summer
to the bitter winds of Winter
that make you so assured in your speech?
My hand stays in writing this,
for I cannot help but recall the heat of your gaze upon such trembling lips.
The waves of course,
were of my own making,
rushed along by the proximity of nearness;
I cannot begin to describe the emotion.
Ah, what a bittersweet sensation it must be
to glance upon such Angelic qualities
and not be swayed?
But, my heart knows not what it speaks,
for it is only an instrument,
wrought along by cruel forgery.
My eyes fall upon your countenance
and wish in vain the sadness beheld
were upon my account!
I am but a woman, in mind and body,
and my afflictions are my own.
Rest assured, sir, that the joy seen in my eyes
is not because of newfound glory,
but in the blessed awareness of solitude!