I am thankful

I am thankful for his smile, for his eyes, for his hands.

I am thankful for the marks he has left inside my heart, for the colors he brought into my life, for the way he makes me see life, for the way I see myself through his eyes.

I am thankful, most of all, even if he could never be near me, because he breathes, because his heart beats, because he exists... His existence makes this world a brighter place to live in. 

Woman

Cold.
Scared.
Alone in the immense black hole which they call "growing up."
In need of physical affection,
in urge of emotional caresses;
realizing that the love of a father is not enough anymore...

I gladly accept the award. Please visit Poetry Palace.
I´d like to nominate Dulce.

I do not.

I dont like you.

I dont like your smell in the morning.

I dont like the mess you drag me into.

I dont like the way you move your hands while you talk.

I dont like it at all.

I dont like it when you touch me.

I dont like the way you kiss.

I dont like your hugs 

I dont like the way you think.

I dont like it at all.

I dont like the way you lie

I dont like it when you steal my clothes

and neither when you come late from school.

I dont like you at all, 

and yet

I love you so.

Taking part in Thursday Poets Rally

Sister

Suddenly the feeling invaded Alice. She felt that she knew her better than she did herself.
"Can I keep it?" she had asked.
"No" Alice replied.
"Ok, then I wont go"
Her answer shocked her. Alice would have expected her to kick and scream, to damn her for ruining her night, and yet she didnt. She said "Ok" so carelessly...
So Alice started to feel wrong about herself. It was like her sister knew exactly what to say to make her feel awkward about it.
"I wont change my mind" Alice thought. But as each minute passed by, she felt worse and worse.
At the end it meant that she was not as selfish as she thought she was, she didnt want to ruin her sister´s night, did she?
"Ok, go ahead. Keep it just for tonight."

This house

The walls are pink and white.
The piano is on that corner and over it, the masks stare.
Two bookshelves: Isabel Allende and Chopin.
The tic-toc sound.
"Le huitieme jour", "Trainspotting", "Les Choristes", "Nosferatu."
The freckled doll, Picasso, the Bible...

Nothing smells of you. Everything smells of me.
I know these objects. They are part of me.

This diminute world contained behind this door is mine. It should remind me of myself. I should be thinking of my childhood, and yet, every single time I step into this house, the only thing I can think about is you...

A man.

People is waiting. She knows she needs to be fast. They are all waiting for her to choose the epitaph that is to be written in his grave.

She feels the pressure on her. What if she is mistaken? What if what she decides to write is not what he would have wanted to be written in his eternal mud bed?

But who would care after all? He was dead. Maybe in twenty years nobody would ever remember him and nobody would care about reading his epitaph, right?

Wrong. She would still care, she will always do.

Years before they even got married, he had told her that in case he died before her, he wanted her to write his favorite Albert Einstein quote on his grave: "The secret to creativity is knowing how to hide your sources".

She thought it was a pretty weird epitaph for him to choose.

Now that he was dead, she remembered that talk. She would have written that quote with no much more trouble, but then she recalled hearing him say : "You know Im crazy, but I always mean what I say. When that moment arrives (if it does) just remember that you know me better than I know myself, you will know what to do". So now she was deliberating whether he really wanted her to write that quote or if he had meant something more.

Indeed she knew him better than anyone else in the world. The idea was so stupid that she felt pity about herself thinking about it. Why was his last phrase bothering her so much? "You will know what to do."

She whispered words of hate trying to make the feeling go away. She wanted to let go and move on as fast as possible. She just needed to tell them which epitaph would be written on her husband´s grave but she just could not do it.

She knew him, she knew him so well... but he knew her very well too. And he was right, he meant every single word he had ever said. 

That was the answer! She loved him.

That stupid quote could go to hell, she loved him.

She said to herself that she had loved him since the first time she saw him and it was not a cliché for her to say that, it had actually been real! She had loved every inch of him, every inch of skin, every inch of soul... And nobody else would understand it, nobody but her and him.

She took a pencil and wrote extremely fast the secret that had been always lingering between them. She knew it was the way he wanted to be remembered: "Here lays a man. A real man who has been loved by me."


Taking part in Thursday Poets Rally

I am

Welcome to the world of broken hopes. She had everything done and surrounded herself with things and people she loved. She draw the path to her future... but she made a mistake, a mistake that will not erase the stuff around her but will certainly ruin all of her plans and she no longer has ink to draw another one.

She has to step up in front of everybody and tell the truth: "I´m..."

18th

"You keep on surprising me" I said to you as you held my hand.
We were there, together and just breathing. We needed nothing else but to know that we were next to each other and that our friendship was being blessed by God.

We stayed quiet for a long, long time... I felt the air playing around with my hair and I felt your presence next to me, then I thought as I looked at the trees around us that I was happy, probably happier than I had ever been before and I knew that it could not be more perfect than this: me on my 18th birthday at a beautiful place in a wonderful time of my life, eating delicious food, under an amazing sky, being near the Almighty God and sitting next to an extraordinary man...

Disappointment

Disappointment is the most common thing in life. 

They tell you to dream and it is ok. But sometimes dreams are not possible, you have to take that and go on trying to save the rest of your dreams -the ones that may still be possible.
I´ll be fine, nothing´s wrong. Please believe me.

Now you know...

I had a dream last night. I was in that place we both know so well and I was walking fast. Lots of people passing me by and walking on a different direction. I felt like I had been walking for days and days following something my heart needed for beating.
 Suddenly, I recognized your sweet smell and I raised my head to look out for you. There you were and you    had stopped. I started to walk towards you and just before I reached you, you started running.
 Only then I realized I had been following you since the beginning, it was you who I was chasing.
I turned my head and saw faces staring at me and I must confess I felt ashamed.
 "What am I doing" I said.I turned away and started walking... "I am not used to this"
When you were far enough, I stopped and cried out loud hoping you could hear me: "I observe, I don´t chase!"

"His message was brutal but the delivery was kind

Maybe if I get this down I'll get it off my mind

It serves to condition me and smoothen mi kinks

Despite my frustation for the way that he thinks..."

Amy Winehouse "You sent me flying/cherry"

Me against the world.

I was thinking of how many things I hate about the world, about people, about life.

I felt angry and discouraged, but then I realized that I can´t change the world, I can only change myself and that will be enough.

Sometimes I realize I don´t have thew slightest idea about anything...

D.

She had forgotten how much she hated when somebody says that everything happens for a reson. She knew it, I mean, who doesn`t? It was just that she hated how it sounded, she hated how those words could never make her feel better -or at least less guilty and scared.

She took the subway. For the first time in her life, the eyes that were looking at her didn`t bug her at all, her mind was so far away that she almost missed her stop.When she went down, a warm tear ran down her face. That´s how she realized she had been crying all the way home. 

An old woman looked at her with pity while a little boy stared at her and asked her mom why was that lady crying.

She took the stairs to exit and before the sunlight could reach her skin she sighed out loud. It was the saddest sigh nobody had ever heard. The world seemed to stop around her while she kept climbing the stairs, then the light stroke her face and the truth in her eyes was revealed for all to see: she was sorry.


Taking part in Thursday Poets Rally

Hurt.

Every single inch of my skin hurts.

I am such a fool... 

Picnic.

Tall trees, pure air.

I looked at the sky, I am wrong, I know nothing. I wish I knew how...

Fatal play.

She stood in front of the mirror, looked at her frickled, pretty face and laughed. She stared at every single inch of her and counted the moles on her arms: "Eight" she said as she walked away.

Arlenne went to the kitchen and ate a piece of cake: "Two pieces left". Then she went to the bathroom and counted the spots on the blue tile and after that she counted the number of coins that were over the living room´s table.

To be honest, Arlenne had not the slightest idea of what to do or where to go, so she flunged herself into the armchair and cried. She was desperate and alone.

Suddenly, fear and rage took over her. She wanted to escape, she wanted to run away. She felt like hiding under the table and crying her eyes out the whole night through: she could not take it, but she knew she had to.

For the first time in a lot of time, Arlenne had made a mistake she couldn´t write about. She thought of calling her sister, of calling her best friend, of calling her mother, of calling her aunt, of calling his boss, of calling him, but she didn´t. Her life had changed so much during the last few months that suddenly every single important thing in her life was connected to each person she cared about. She couldn´t say it, they would hate her!

That night Arlenne cried and cried and died. They said it was suicide, but I know that she died from fear and sadness, because for the first time in her life, she made a mistake that she could not talk about with him, because it was about him...  She portrayed a betrayal.

Cowboy painting...

"He does not love you" my mom told me once ".He would be here if he did"

I am lying in bed -his bed- and Im fighting myself not to look at the clock, but it´s 4:00 a.m. because he is not here and everytime he leaves after spending the night with me it´s 4:00 a.m.

Where does he go so early? Does he leave at the same time even when I am not here?

I turn my face and search for the scent of water and salt his hair left on the pillow, then I cry for that scent reminds me of the sea and of tears.

It´s 5:00 a.m. and still I can´t sleep. It is as if I had to be waiting for him, hoping for him to come back with a smile on his face and tell me he went running or cooking or riding... anything, but he does not.

It´s 6:00 a.m. and the sun is rising in the sky. The empty side of the bed is no longer warm and my tears are dry by now. 

A beam of light slips through the blue window, he is not there and the only thing my tears allow me to see is his cowboy painting: cold and mocking -just like him- on his pale wall.

 Short Story Slam :)

Two words

This is the second time I get this feeling: words travelling through my veins. They are accumulating on my fingertips trying to get out of my body, trying to capture my ideas on the paper, ideas that I am no capable to express.

So, today,  I only have two words to say: I´m sorry...

Untold.

Once again the rose in my hand shuddered, the petals bleed hot chocolate and the leaves cracked under my feet.

It was like having something you can´t control under control: imposible to avoid but avoiding it anyway. Is that even possible? I stopped asking myself that question a long time ago. 

I write about chocolate, roses and leaves because I can´t allow myself to talk straight. I can´t change metaphores into concrete concepts, I don´t think I am strong enough, at least not today.

How horrible it is to own words, feelings and stories you can´t told! Why can´t they be told? They would be disastrous and harming for the ones we love... 

Taking part in Thursday Poet´s Rally

Madness

Short Story Slam

Year: 2011

-You see, Dany -he said -, I´ve been stolen too many times in my life. I´ve lost  my wallet, my suitcase, my food and even my shoes and nothing had ever pissed me off so much.

They were standing near the surprised crowd who was taking photographs of the hot air balloons. 

-They are so colorful -he said again -. Seriously, I´ve never been so pissed off before! How could they do it Dany?

Dany, his dog, stared at him with eyes open wide and moved its tale in an anxious way.

-Dany! These people have stolen my idea! I created those submarines!I am Jacques Montgolfier! I wonder how will they take them to the ocean, Dany... 

The feeling...

The feeling that something`s wrong.

Not knowing if it is your fault,

if it could have been different or

if it means something else...

Like holding a very fragile rose in your hand:

Trembling because of the power we have over it:

easy to cut off, very hard to keep alive.

Signals and signs, 

are we supposed to follow our hearts?

Promising poets poetry cafe

Thanks a lot for the award :) I accept it.

I´d like to nominate Dsnake

Dear Alex:

I know you´d never hurt my feelings, because you´ve shown me that you care. But yesterday you hurt a deepest part of me: you hurt my art.

I once noticed, when I was playing violin, that you stared at me with doubt and a little bit of rejection. Perhaps I was not playing how I should be playing according to your idea of good music. I stopped. I thought I was being stupid, I thought you were right.

But now you´ve limited my art. You say I should not refer to things the way I do. You said that I should be careful of not flying too much, of not making it too sublime.

I am a writer, we are supposed to do that! We find words to make something simple the most sublime thing on Earth, because that is how we feel about it. That is how we see life: we fly.

I thought you were the one person on Earth that could somehow understand me, but now the hole in my stomach is back: you do not and you will never will.

Forever yours,
Dalhila.

Taking part in Thursday Poet´s Rally

Freud

Here I am, in class. Learning about Freud and how he classified us all like living beings who are nothing but a bunch of impulses acting and thinking just to achieve their sexual satisfaction disguised under a mask of art.
To be honest, I do not believe so, but dont tell my teacher or she'll be pissed off. I believe we're more than that, we're unbelievable: we're humans and that's all.
Oh my... How fastidiously vulnerable we are!

In love, in friendship, let us reign...

Lea stared at his sleeping husband. His face was pressed against the yellow pillow, his mouth was a little bit open and his arms were wide open at each side of the bed.

Lea sat in an empty spot of the bed and slipped her forefinger in Adam´s back; he had such a beautiful back, so white and masculine...

Adam didn´t wake up, he just shivered a little and sighed in his sleep.

"How odious you should think me", she said in a whisper ", for I have taken away a lot of things from you. What a terrible woman I am! I am nothing but selfish and envious." She laid down her face and kissed his back tenderly.

"I made you quit your friends, your job and Italy. Oh! But I did it because I loved you so much. I took them away from you because none of those things included me. There was no room for me when they were in your life. I am your wife, for God´s sake!"

Adam began to snore and Lea took his hand into hers and said once again: "I am so selfish. Maybe I should have stopped. I know how much you loved those things. I wonder if you ever miss them."

At this point, Lea felt so wrong about herself that she shed silent tears which forced her to let go his hand in order to wipe her tears. She covered her face and sobbed for long, eternal minutes.

Suddenly, Adam turned his face towards her still in sleep. His wife stopped crying and kissed her claddagh ring, then she kissed his lips with love. "How can I be such a fool? I do not deserve you", she continued ", you left all those things because of me; because you love me. You´re the most beautiful angel I´ve ever known. I will not leave you tonight, or any other night. Forgive me."

You.

For Emily L.

I looked at you with fear, not that I did not trust you, I did not trust my eyes.

Fearless and silent you were, unconquerable as you have always been.

I stood on my feet, yet a little bit over the floor. Me, as small and vulnerable as I have always been when you´re around.

I didn´t cry because you did not ask me to do it and because your stone eyes became grey shades of ocean waves...

Do you understand me?

I gave you a letter, I wrote you a sonet, I published a book with your name on it. You never read them, you never understood why. So before I walked away I told you: "When things are too much for one to take with no easy way out and patience is almost gone, one should write and wirte and write..."

Shared with Poetry Potluck

Stay.

I cannot think. Ideas are stucked in the deepest side of my brain.

Today, as never before, I know exactly how I feel, I understand it, but I can´t write it in words. It´s like it was written in another language: a language without words, made of sounds, sensations and images.

I cannot say it! Why can´t I?

I really need to say it...

Leave.

Why do they always leave? Because I do not have the courage to do it myself: "What if? What if I wait a little bit more?"

Stay.

Why would they stay? Can I stay? Should I stay?

Dream, leave, part... please stay.

Taking part in Thursday Poet´s Rally

Merci :)

So I got this award from Jingle, thaks a lot Jingle! :)

I pass it to Gugo and to Dan Roberson

Always there...

Song post!

"Here, there and everywhere-The Beatles"

Yesterday when I looked into your eyes I realized something: I am scared.

I am who I am, just that. 

I am scared of what will happen when you get to know me "completely" and when the mistery I´ve never had dissapears.

What if I bore you? What if you get tired of my simpleness and gullibility? What if all of a sudden there is nothing interesting I could say or do? 

What if the spark I´ve never really had goes away?

I am scared even when I should not be worrying about it. You make it so hard for people like us to fit in because we´re never going to be smarter that you and yet as if you were not aware of it, you look at us with such charming eyes and make us long to stay there forever... I wonder, is that even possible?

7 facts about me

ABOUT ME

1. Im a pianist and a writer

2. I wanted to be a fly when I was little

3. I´d like to have 3 kids

4. I always wanted to be 17

5. My eyes always water easily

6. I hate eating the 12 grapes in New Year

7. I hate mango

Thanks Jingle and Krislin Neo, Ting

Best friends

How can I explain to you how much do you mean to me?

Maybe give you a letter, maybe write you a poem, maybe sing you a song...

I can do a lot of things, you know?

But no songs and no words are enough to thank you, they are not enough to describe you...

Like I once told you: there are no words to describe things from outter space.

So the thing is, you´re incredibly marvelous... I am so thankful to God for giving me the honor to be your friend, to know that you care about me and to be able to take care of you and of your heart. Thank God for your life, because, in more ways than you may know, you changed mine...

You were there...

I was supposed to meet him at the bus station, but he was still a station away, so I took my book out of my bag and started to read. It had been a while since I last read that book, so I couldn`t remember where I was.

It took me some seconds to reach the last line I could recall reading, "Love was far too close, or very distant, we no longer knew it, it had to happen some day, not to know".

So there I was, reading Emily L. and waiting. My back on the wall and a man standing very close to me. I moved, I hate being observed. I didn´t look at him but I turned around and walked a few steps away from him. But then I stopped. It was quite hard to believe... it couldn´t be you and it wasn´t you, but somehow you were present. I caught that scent... it was so slight and yet so powerful that it forced me to return to the place I walked away from... In front of me, waiting for the bus, was some guy. I could not see his face, and to be honest, I didn´t care about his face. I just smelled him from the far. He smells a little bit like you. He probably wears the same lotion as you do.

He´s not you but I don`t mind, that stranger brought me closer to you today...

You were there.

To touch her.

It was as simple as that.

We were watching T.V, she picked the movie she wanted to watch and we sat on the couch.

It was a French film, a very good one I must say.

We sat close to each other but not without keeping the distance I, like the gentleman I am, consider appropiate for her to feel comfortable.

So the movie went on and we laughed, she almost cried, and in her face the sparkle of surprise and amusement was showing.

Then I thought how wonderful it was to be sitting there with her, how great it was to know that she´s my friend, that we´re part of each other´s life. And when I realized all that, I couldn´t help but to look at her, stare at her and enjoy the view of her small nose, her rose cheeks and red hair.

And then, when the movie was surprising her the most, I gently touched her arm with one finger. She did not notice it. After a while I stopped, I just needed to touch her, I needed to know that she´s real. She´s so beautiful,

she´s so amazing... It´s hard to breathe when she´s near and it´s hard to believe that such a delicate, wonderful flower actually exists and is actually here sitting next to me.

Home

Everything seems to bother me today... the smell of old furniture which pervade the clothes I left on them because I forgot to keep them in the drawer, the flavorless and cold food I´ve been eating for months, the old computer getting broken today, the unfinished books under my pillow, the odd sensation of being in a very small place and yet smelling the scent of loneliness all around the house as if I was in the biggest mansion ever built, the dirty streets with garbage and dog crap everywhere, the small children screaming, the steps of the neighbour upstairs, Molly´s wrath attack; always pecking at me, the mess at the living room, the dishes piled up on the table, the suitcase on the floor, the dusty flat roof, the cardboard over the small bathroom´s trash can, the draft in the kitchen, the walls, the door, the windows, the curtains...

So Im sitting here writting this, crying and saying to myself "I hate this place!"

I feel so childish now that I realize that it´s not really that I hate this place with its old furniture and small rooms...It is not that Im mad because the computer broke down or because I ate badly today, it´s just that this place brings back to my memory things I thought I had forgotten: people and things that hurt me in the past.

This is the place where I spent the worst years of my childhood... and I miss my family, I miss my place, I miss my things. I miss you.

I just wish I could be home right now, I wish this could feel like home to me.

Love never goes out of style...

I heard Nicholas Sparks said once that love never goes out of style...

Since the creation of this world, love has been present, love like God´s love towards us or Adam and Eve.

Every century had it´s own language, manners, customs, ways of dressing and ways of expressing but love has always been there; it has always been shown, and with social and cultural differences, love felt just the same then and now.

Falling in love has always been the closest thing to magic. Love,love...

Primitive love, chaperoned loved, pure love, free love, wild love, self-love,

selfish love, charming love, fairy-tale love,

novel love, sci- fi love, overwhelming love,

romantic love, passionate love,hopeful love, beautiful love,

imprudent love, convenient love, dramatic love,

fatal love,childish love, young love, old love,

true love,

forever love...

Paris Je t´aime. Enjoy!

Sweet words.

With you, I´ve learnt so many things, probably half of the things I know today are because of you.

But one thing I never thought I would learn from you is how different things are when talking about heart issues if you tell them kindly and using the sweetest words that you can use.

It makes me feel safe and confident... protected.

Thank you, daddy.

Highest wish

My highest wish:

To be able to wake up one day, feeling the warm sun waking me up by touching gently my skin and to open slowly my eyes to find nothing but myself in complete peace and knowing that I finally was able to find exactly what I had been looking for: an everyday communion with God. And for me that, is enough... the rest will come later on.

Matthew 6:33

But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.

Questions...

I´ve felt misunderstood before, I am young, I know.

But don´t forget that because I am young I need guidance, I need help,

I need you to tell me I´m not wrong.

I think I understand what´s going on... you´re trying to keep me calm about it,

trying not to make me think about it more than what I do.

Don´t you know how hard it is for me? Do you think I do not know that this requires me to be careful?

Can´t you see that your silence burns bridges instead of building them?

Can´t you see that keeping your mouth shut is the worst thing you can do?

I was wrong, in reality I don´t understand you...

Why would you ask me about it? Huh?

Why would you ask?

Why let me tell you about it, about how it makes me feel, just to act as if you did not listen and walk away?

Don´t you know how important it is for me? How happy and yet afraid it makes me?

Can´t you realize that I want to share it with you?

Well, I guess I must stay in silence if that´s what you want me to do, no more attempts, so please, save yourself those questions.

"All my life I had been looking for something, and everywhere I turned

someone tried to tell me what it was. I accepted their answers too,

though they were often in contradiction and even self-contradictory.

I was naïve. I was looking for myself and asking everyone except

myself questions which I, and only I, could answer. It took me a long time

and much painful boomeranging of my expectations to achieve

a realization everyone else appears to have been born with:

that I am nobody but myself."

Ralph Ellison

It is amazing.

It´s amazing, when we talk, when we sing, when we laugh.

It´s amazing when we can stay hours just breathing, because there´s no need of more.

It´s amazing when I know how I can really trust in you.

It´s amazing when it´s impossible not to learn something new with you.

It´s amazing when we can laugh and laugh with no apparent reason.

It´s amazing when a lollipop means peace between us after a discussion.

It´s amazing when I look at you and find a true friend.

I´ts amazing when I realize

how amazing it is

to be important for somebody like you.

Jingle, thank you. This is my acceptance.

Please visit Thursday Poets Rally. Please visit Monday potluck

I´d like to nominate Ladyminue

Too young.

I never really minded about ages, I was 7 and that was all...

I used to dream about of how my life would be at 12, 16 and 20.

But now that I´ve reached at least the first two ages life seems so much more confusing than it was before.

And people around me say Im more mature than what my age demands,

that´s why I never fitted when I was a child.

Now it doesn´t bother me at all.

I´ve been trying to learn now that I know who I am how to be 20 in mind and yet live the life of 17.

But future is approaching and it´s doing it fast... and yet I´ve been reminded constantly this past few days that no matter what, I am still too young.

That´s just fine, I like being young,even when almost nothing is clear at that age and probably it is as hard as being an adult. But, who knows? Adults have forgotten and I am still not there.

Sometimes I´m afraid I may result childish for you, you know?

Yet if that happens, I may not be able to make you change your mind...

Language

“There are all sorts of experiences we can’t really put a name to…The birth of a child, for one. Or the death of a parent. Falling in love. Words are like nets—we hope they’ll cover what we mean, but we know they can’t possibly hold that much joy, grief, or wonder. Finding God is like that, too. If it’s happened to you, you know what it feels like. But try to describe it to someone else—and language only takes you so far.”

— Jodi Picoult (Change of Heart)

Not knowing.

Yesterday I cried.

Maybe because I felt sad, maybe because I could not say what I wanted to say...

or maybe because not knowing and getting along with the doubt are things that contradict myself.

Weakness? Fear?

Mostly fear...

But for the first time in my life I´m not afraid of being hurt but of hurting others, for the first time it scares me to death the thought of doing things wrong, of being uncapable of keeping it safe.

But, at the end, not knowing is part of the plan, it is what makes us who we are and allows us to stand where we are...

And it´s some kind of wonderful that not knowing is what makes us strong; it is what gives us the certainty that we´re doing things right, that we will be just fine no matter what the answer may be.

(Lovely images)

In return...

I can still remember that night, I can still feel the tears running down my face as if it was today when

we were sitting on the grass looking up to the sky, you were counting stars.

I stared at you. You with your sparkling eyes and soft figure, you.

Then you turned and looked at me. "What´s wrong?" You asked.

"It´s just that I don´t think you know how much I love you." I said.

"Don´t I?" you answered smiling.

Then, thoughts filled my mind, I couldn´t stop thinking about that... "I must told him."

"I can´t believe" I started "how I could ever live without you, you saved me from myself."

You tried to say something because you saw the tears in my eyes but I held your hand and told you to let me finish my speech.

"Sometimes I feel like I can´t forgive myself for the life I lived before you, for what I did wrong, for giving myself away so many times..."

You wiped my tears away softly and waited for me to catch my breath again.

I continued "And I can´t believe how good you´ve been to me..."

You kissed my hand and wrapped your arms around my trembling body, and there, close to your heart I whispered "And I only hope that in return I might have saved the best of me for you"

Thursday Poets Rally Week 37 (January 13-19) | Jingle