I would never know

I stood under the lamppost
reading out a letter to you.
My back was to you,
so I did not know if
my words reached you.
I would never know.

I brushed the tip of my fingers
over the calluses on your palm.
You brushes off the tears
that rolled down my cheeks.
Whether you felt the connect
when my skin touched yours,
I don't know.
I would never know.

You pulled me close
and I hugged you as tight as I could.
You told me to be strong because
letting go is the right thing to do.
But letting you go was perhaps
the hardest thing I have ever done.
Whether you knew this or not,
I would never know.

You lit one cigarette after the other
and I felt my soul being burnt
and rising up hand-in-hand
with the smoke from your stub.
Last night has been the saddest,
coldest and loneliest of all
sleepless nights.
Whether you slept well or not,
I would never know.

There are so many stories I had to tell you,
so many scars I had to show you,
but you would never know.
It all came down like the
necrotic yellow leaf
that broke off from the tree
and landed quietly on
the cold, gray road.

Whether my necrosis is as quiet as the leaf
or the noisy drum-roll inside my head,
I don't know.
But my necrosis is the right thing at the moment.
Or so you said.
Whether you actually believe it or not,
I would never know.