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Feather’s Weight

The sound of a fan in the distance of this cloudy morning.

I listen to the sound it makes while it spins to create a breath of wind on my sweated skin.

A moment to remember,

your arms around my body,

my hug to you,

sweet kisses given to your cute sleepy face,

as the clock ticks on remembering me how precious is this moment I am living.

Your skin, your breath,

slowly caressing your frown,

enjoying the weight of your body against me.

Wind, the wind that carries me away,

the wind that makes me cry out the loneliness I feel now,

now that we’re far away as before, now that I cannot feel the protection of your smile.

I don’t want to be a shadow for you,

I want to be the only one in your light.

I don’t want to drive away,

tell me we’ll meet again,

in a while, in a month, in a year,

tell me I’ll be able to be in your arms again,

tell me we’ll be able to live once again this enchantment.

And now, alone as I go to bed with the light on,

as I search with my hand the presence of your body beside me, but catching nothing but a memory,

I’m stuck in your kisses.

Let me sleep. I want to dream of you. I want to have a chance to meet you one more time.

 

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Last Glimpses

I wonder if I see another sunset,

another ceiling, another white unknown space,

another waiting, another hour in the bathtube thinking about my life.

What’s happening?

It feels like I’m losing too much.

The smile on his face, the love he’s lost,

the worth of every day, spent smiling instead of crying.

I’m trying to force myself to smile at the mirror as the clock ticks on,

and I turn back to watch the crowded square,

and time stands still, and there’s only hope in my heart.

A pause, a glimpse of light. Let it slow down please.

I remember that time in Madrid,

staring at the King’s Palace with sad eyes as I walked away.

That blue sky, that lonely but perfect morning, that walk under a clear sun.

Where are those dreams? Where are they hidden?

It seems like a lifetime ago, a future I was claiming to be mine,

a future I still don’t know.

Every morning seems like a repetition, a blueprint of something I’ve lived once.

And now, at the beginning of the descent, at the turning of the tide, in the eye of the storm,

I let myself go, and I lose myself watching the sun rise, hoping for the dreams to come back.

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