There is no return,
and there is only the return,
which inevitably moves on
towards departure,
like the Valse Brillante,
like the Polonaise...
How is it possible
to be certain of your return,
yet, genuinely not to know?
Because it is only you
who can choose
to return
or not...
The edifice of my certainty
is a strange construction
supported by one column only,
that of my faith,
or fidelity,
or both.
Anticipation and doubt,
Yearning and non-fulfilment,
desire and frustration,
all dance in a pulsating rhythm
of three quarters...
The rhythm of Waltz,
the Valse Brillante
of Frederic and Aurora,
in unison,
yet separately.
There is no return,
and there is only the return,
which inevitably moves on
towards departure,
like the Valse Brillante,
like the Polonaise…
