| Precisely now, you break into my life, with your captivating presence and eyes of an assassin. Late, like always, fortune gets to us. You were with her; I was with him, playing to be happy for being desperate, for not waiting the dreams, for fear to be single. Yet, we arrived late, I saw you and you saw me, we recognized ourselves immediately, but late. Damned is the hour that I found what I dreamed, late. So much of dreaming and missing without having you, so much of inventing you, so much of looking for you like crazy on the streets, without finding you. And there goes this idiot; for being desperate, muddling up love with company. And that old stupid fear of seeing myself old and and without a couple, makes you choose with the head what is of the heart. And I do not have anything against them; the rage is against the time for bringing you next to me, late. Desire to escape; of not even seeing your shade, to wonder if this was a dream or a nightmare, that you never appeared, that you have never existed. Desire of kissing, to coincide with you. To approach a little, and bind with you in a hug, of looking to your eyes and tell you, welcome. But we arrived late. I saw you and you saw me, we recognized ourselves immediately, but late. Perhaps in other lives, perhaps in other deaths. That desire of caressing, that desire of touching, to get to you and suppress you with a kiss, for us to escape for good, without damages to thirds. |
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