The paradox of recognition

Time once drew a line between us, 
only to weave our fates together again, 
as if we’d traveled a thousand light years. 
I had long abandoned hope, 
sifting through the pearls of our shared past, 
feeling your ethereal touch linger like a ghost. 
Then, like a specter from my yesterdays, 
you emerged, weathered by time and doubt. 

Now, you carry not just the weight of our forgotten parting, 
but also the tangled threads of a Kabbalah, 
a marriage forged in the fires of regret, 
with a woman whose friendship cost you dearly, 
whose love morphed into a haunting nightmare. 
Is this the dream you chased, my love? 
I question it deeply.
She is not me, 
and you’ve known that since the spark ignited between us.

Years later, I peer into your eyes, 
and see a well of unspoken sorrow, 
a deep well of sadness, doubts, and regrets. 
This myopic gaze, a melancholic Renaissance soul, 
still holds a beauty, 
though it bears the weight of existence’s timeless toll. 
This gaze, though stripped of youthful echoes, 
still captivates, yet lacks that former fire. 
Your eyes, once cold and aloof to the world, 
were always warm for me, 
filled with mischievous glimmers of passion, 
languid looks from beneath half-lowered lashes, 
and a depth of sensuality rare in men today. 

You conquered me with silence, 
and now, as I behold you anew, 
I tremble, caught in the paradox of recognition: 
is it truly you, or merely your weary doppelganger? 
Your hands hesitate, 
afraid to breach the invisible boundary of desire: 
can you touch me as you once did, 
or will the heavens exact their toll? 
Your hands have always known me better than I knew myself, 
softly enslaving me, exploring with a gentle curiosity, 
lifting me to celestial heights, 
unfolding me like a cherished tome, 
performing miracles, tracing the contours of mine 
as if navigating a well-loved map.
I adored your hands, 
worshipped their grace, 
would barter my very essence 
for a mere caress.
 
How can you question now, 
ponder the rightness of this? 
Yes, it was always a misstep, 
yes, you’ve strayed more than you’ve sought forgiveness— 
and I, too, have danced in shadows. 
You were my fantasy, 
my confidant, 
caught in the web of time and fate. 
If you crave me as before, 
then linger, let it unfold. 
If fear of judgment haunts you, 
stay still, 
and offer me your all once more. 
Should regret creep in later, 
I’ll relish the echoes, 
each whisper, each touch, 
as you re-enter my world— 
a divine spark, 
even if fleeting. 

Can the Being truly deny two fated souls 
the chance to waltz through the cosmos, 
from one existence to the next, 
in endless embrace?..

[2025]