I'll remember you in every most imperfect gesture,
every dream of mine that's lost and found inspiration again.
In those days that used to fly by in an hour
and the tenderness, your hair and the sheets.
And no, don't cry 'cause I can't stand your tears.
I will never stand them
because if you're happy,
then every smile is gold
and from afar by forgiving you I'm imploring you,
and it will talk about you.
It's just that,
That when you're not back yet and it's already late and it's dark outside,
there's no solution to it 'cause this house smells of you,
and I'll listen to your footsteps and each of them will make me feel better,
and in every external glance, I'm losing interest,
and this makes me scared,
so scared,
scared of being alright,
of choosing and making a mistake.
But that which makes me feel good is you, love.
I've collected experiences as would be fit for a giant.
I've collected gaffes and imaginations.
I've spent so many years inside a golden cage;
yes, perhaps it was beautiful but I was encaged nonetheless.
And now I will always depend on your joy
which will always depend only on mine
which will talk about you,
and it will talk about you.
It's just that,
That when you're not back yet and it's already late and it's dark outside,
there's no solution to it 'cause this house smells of you,
and I'll listen to your footsteps and each of them will make me feel better,
and in every external glance, I'm losing interest,
and I love you so much
that for those sweet eyes of yours I can only feel bad
and take those lips and then kiss them under the sun
because I know how much the absence of your smile hurts
when it disappears from your face while we get away from each other,
and it makes me scared,
so scared,
scared of being alright,
of choosing and making a mistake.
But that which makes me feel good now is you, love.
And it's dark outside,
but you're here my love,
and it's dark outside.