FOR POETRY

You came so slow and walked in quiet,   like you’d been living  between my breath and my heart. You are the softness after the storm,   the name I always call when the room gets too still.   You see the parts of me  that I hide from the mirrors,   and you don’t look away. If pain was my shadow,  you are the light that stayed, and in staying you became   the one after my heart,   the reason it remembers  how to beat without fear.

Perhaps my love isn't so real!  Perhaps it's a strange love,  or perhaps I don't long to be near your body, but near  your dreams, to open a path for them; yet, in my poems, I hasten to declare my love to you  every day, without forgetting your tears. Is it worth it  to speak to you of this love? Especially the one that reached me in autumn and in the moments of my life. How I long to love you! To taste your love,  to celebrate your beauty in the clarity of rainy days. Here, I hasten to acknowledge  all that is put forward; it is absolutely necessary! Even if  you don't understand me; if you could dream of us together, of nights lost in our dreams; wouldn't I have seen your eyes? Perhaps, my love, it isn't so nostalgic, but rather a serene love, relatively new.