You are still in my dreams

In spite of the time, In spite of the tears

it takes too long to extinguish the fire with the water of my eyes,

because that water has become powder that flies with the morning

birds and disappears with the indifferent light from the sun.

They are too many chapters of this book written with the pen of time,

filled with the ink of my eyes.

Love is so short, and oblivion so long

I’m not trying to understand something that has no explanation.

I’m trying to commit the murder of myself, when I look at you, and

my heart doesn’t belong to me, when I think of you and the word

storm begin.

I’m tired of this nonsensical world that is not my dream but the

complicated reality that is neither true nor false, it just is.

These are words that vanish when they are spoken, they are vacuum

and nothing else.

For whom is the lie of love?

When the air is warm and nothing happens.

When the eyes close and are able to see the color of blood.

When the rain falls from my eyes, and it falls cold, and it falls sad.

When the dew is early and my life which is a dream doesn't allow me

to sleep.

I ask myself

For whom is the lie of love?

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