It was her voice that embraced me from miles away and it was her eyes that drowned me into deep infinity. It is beautiful to fall in love with someone you have seen for only 72 hours. And these dramatic 72 hours tell me a dream of 72 years living with her.
Unconditionally, without fear, without knowing and understanding, I say just her.
Without constraints of the world, and in the eternity of constraints of her heart.
Without conditions of being loyal, and with the conditions of dying for her.
Without fear of the future, and with fear of losing her.
Without fear of obstacles, and having fear of being her failure.
Without knowing anything, and with a full understanding of my feelings for her.
Without knowing of indulgence, but being self-indulgent in her way.
Only she, who became all of me and I became none of her.
It’s winter, silence is everywhere.
The heaviness of the snow kept all the doors closed.
I pass carelessly in snow-covered streets.
I walk lost in the cold snow.
Without knowing where I’m going.
Thinking of her is a murder of my soul.
My soul dies in the torment of her fantasy.
I wish someone could show me a sign of her.
The whiteness of her skin is whiter than snow.
The redness of her lips is like a stain of blood on the snow.
And her green eyes are like an endless sea.
Her innocent face, similar to the purity of the roaring waters of the river.
I wish I had a sign from her.
I wish I had a memory from her.
I wish she knew that I was looking for her like crazy in the city.
I wish she knew that I don’t sleep day and night, having the illusion of holding her hands.
I wish she knew that there’s no moment for me without her.
I write about her,
about someone, who I don’t have anything but an illusion.
About someone, who I would shed my blood for just having her for a moment.
About someone, who remains only an image in my mind but nothing more.
About someone, who’s having her is the reason to live.
About someone, who’s not having her is the reason to die.
And I am still walking on the broken from the coldness of winter ice’s heart.
It’s winter and she is still invisible.
My M., Oh purest image of my mind, winter is burning me inside.
Damn you winter! Don’t let the burning of your coldness,
remind me of the emptiness of her hands.
It is Winter, time to go home.
Spending time without her in a corner of my home.
Oh illusions, fill her place in me, for I am the winter and I would burn anyone who thinks I have an illusion.
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