We’re likely love without justification,
invented loneliness from convicted forms
where nobody has been able to live
a true noteworthy season.
Time rots of disobedience
but this is no crime nor resistance,
in a city where time flows at its will,
it fails to holy forgetfulness that anoints
our heart with the silence of a fish in a bowl.
In vain have I told my claims,
something imposed is too much for you,
it’s like a rope in the hand of a normal person
that throws it away and lets it go.
I love forests at sunset,
rivers where no one has drowned in,
sometimes even thrills that fill your chest,
days and nights of waiting,
that make your heart flow through untold words
in the endless moments that punish you,
to work around with them in a poem.
One does not write about experiences or disappointments
but about the stone walls of the house
where you have to break a door
towards the room where you will live.