I’m Loving Another Woman
I’m loving another woman now,
and I’m loving her with all the calm
you never gave me.
Now I understand that love
means lining up joyful days—
not those won through endless war.
She is truly beautiful,
of time itself,
and the magic of her constancy
is so stunning
that I don’t know how to describe it.
With you, that magic never happened.
I’m doing well.
She took my life
and my head
into her hands
and changed everything—
she gave meaning and order to my home.
It became the place where I was saved.
There are sunnier days now,
and everyone says
I’ve become a different man, renewed.
Even I feel like I could devour the clouds.
I leave work earlier
because sometimes I miss her so much
and I need to see her.
We see each other every day,
but only when I’m with her
do I stop thinking about everything.
With her, I believe I could save the world.
So please understand
why I rush
to hold her
as fast as I can.
I don’t love you anymore,
and you don’t love me either.
But I’m writing to you
because when we meet,
I notice how you look at me,
and I know how I look at you.
I, Sofia,
don’t love you anymore,
but you remain
the love of my life.
There is only one true love in life,
and we found it,
we loved it,
then stopped missing it.
Still,
you remain the love of my life.
It’s hard to explain to others,
but when I see you,
I shrink into myself—
my eyes and heart change,
I grow old
for just a moment,
because neither you nor I
can allow ourselves to become us again.
But that moment is always there—
especially when I call
just to hear how you’re doing.
That moment always exists
because you are the love of my life:
the mismatch,
the battles,
the stubbornness.
With you,
and for you,
I could have endured it all.
If I had to describe love,
I would speak of that.
But if someone ever asked me
about something beyond love,
I would speak of you.
Because you remain—
even though I stopped loving you
a long time ago.
