Along the bare path we walk
suddenly worlds apart from any living soul
the wind teasing our hair.
I watch as she pulls her arms close,
hands wrapped in green mittens.

"You, my friend are such a mystery.
Take no offense to my words; you promised
not to judge as I tell you my confessions.
But, your words are actions
that I have trouble understanding.
And don't you dare say you don't care
I read it in your eyes.
Listen! they haunt me in my sleep
they won't let me go!"

I raise my eyes towards the grey sky.
I shrug my shoulders,
what am I supposed to say?
I press my lips into pencil thin lines
So many things I want to tell her,
but I'll settle with things that won't chase her away.

"Ah, I am the mystery, or my words are?
How soon do you compare me-
it's as if I'd compare you to the infamous painter
and you would do the same for me to the famous author.
It's not simple like many of you imagine;
it's as if a master and slave-with whips and chains!
Dear heart, I dare implore your accusations!
Why do you compare my words that I dare write,
The ones you say haunt you in the night?"

She laughs and it reminds me of bells rising in distances
and her wild like eyes dance in every direction but mine.
I watch as she tucks fragile hands into deep pockets
and we wander slowly beneath dead trees.
And while she looks to the side, I whisper to the wind
"We're all slaves to what we love."