Letting you go

"If I have not possessed, why speak of letting go? Once I have possessed, how then to let go?"

Perhaps, then, the ultimate maxim of life is to tread the middle path...to amputate the trembling pair of hands that cling desperately to its prize; to moderate joy and grief alike; to relish the novel of life but forget the author; to pick up the crucifix but turn away from our final Golgotha. Perhaps, then, I will extinguish the flame by my bedside before I retire, but reignite it in my dreams, by the pyre, burning with desire, yet powerless to rip the veil that covers your face. If I could bear a passionless embrace, an endless race, days that pledge their drudgery anew...an oceanside mansion without a view...then in a room I could chisel your ivory statue, of wretched hues, and numbly carve away my soul for you.