Satellite HeartYour love has many faces, occurs in small and large actions, lasting and fleeting.Satellite Heart2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Today I do not know of broken promises, or forgotten words, just know that I miss more than ever the tenderness of your look.
One form of love that awakens more questions is that of romantic love. We feel it, but sometimes we doubt whether it is "true". Is it just desire, attraction, compassion, need to fill a void, fear of loneliness?
And I miss your life, your eyes. I miss your voice, your hands.
I think your love has little to do with stability. Even after the first meetings, you get to a stage less passionate, but never a lethargy.
I miss you for the simple fact that you took away from here with you half my heart.
Love shakes us, binds us to another person in a story where rationality does not operate.
I miss find your messages, give my poems, art that attempt waiting for you ...
How not to think that I don’t miss you, if you're all that I have?
It's a mystery. We feel it, we live it, but we ca
hallucinations and dreamsHow do I call you without losing the romance and mystery?hallucinations and dreams8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
What ritual or dance is done to the moon to bring me your kisses?
The death of a being of such beauty is a spectacle that seems to me as sad as wonderful... I feel compelled to stop it.
Every night, when I retire quietly of your dreams, but not before leaving a black rose on your pillow, along with a note "Goodbye beautiful girl. You already have a place in my heart. "
For a moment, a feeling consumes me the idea of staying here by your side until I'm lifeless...
But then I think about the consequences of letting me die: my soul would rest, yes; but my body would miss you, and that pain could not bear a lifetime.
One sometimes die slow, and miss everything that has not happened yet, living in a fantasy, a fast and bright longing to that person who has not even turned around to see us ...
These are seemingly endless minutes, minutes where only exists pain and torture.
The pain becomes a pang.
The rumors are floating in the mist.