There is still a trace of humidity,
her smell fills now my solitude,
on the bed is drawn her silhouette as a promise
to fill the brief space in which she is not
I still do not know whether she will return,
noone knows,the next day what they will do.
She ruins all of my plans,
she does not admit to even one fault,
she does not ask for anything in exchange
for what she gives
She tends to be violent yet tender,
she does not speak of eternal union,
but she gives herself as if there were
only one day for love
She does not partake in gatherings,
but she is fond of the song that compels her thoughts.
I still have not asked, "will you stay?"
I am very much afraid of a response of "never".
I would rather share her than empty out my life,
she is not perfect
but she is close to what I
simply dreamed of...