The tears I've cried in Malta are bittersweet. I've tasted them on the tip of my tongue, at the corner of my mouth, while sobbing. I found myself in solitude again. No hand to hold. No lips to kiss. No arms to embrace. No shoulder to cry on. So I cried into my fists. All the while, creating life. The moments before the greatest arrivals are marked by rupture, fracture, and breakage. What should have been the fruit of our love cracked us apart. The tears I've cried in Barakka Gardens taste of salt and sorrow. A sorrow I should have never known. Especially now. Especially here. A monument to new beginnings. Indeed but not the one I had imagined. And perhaps, when I grow old, I will return to the same bench where my solitude began. But at least now, I have you, whose only love, you know, is mine. And after the years have passed, you too will grow beyond my arms, and I will lose it all.
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