After a long time, we spoke in the same tongue.
Should I move on, I asked God and God replied,
You do not seem like you want to move on.
I sighed, realising God’s tactic.
Our talks were indoors, in candlelit rooms.
Anytime God spoke, flames fluttered.
Would you mind if I moved on, I asked God
and waited for the candle’s noise.
God’s silence seemed a staunch no.
I asked if you were at fault for leaving me
and if I was at fault for hurting you.
Both of you made mistakes, God said.
It relieved me to know that you, too, were wrong.
