I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body. I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep. D, I love you
I’m a huge fan of imagination I get so high with my own delusional thought To that time when we all meet again Who are we then? Will our dreams come true? Will we share our success stories? Or tell each other that love still sucks, like the old days? Will we become those independent happy women we always dream about? Or devastated in loneliness we make ourselves? Will we be saying “it was the right path I chose”? Or regretting the overrated future plan we used to always talking about? I’m just a little coward girl, In the edge of growing up With fabolous friends and a big fat dream. Who are we when we meet again? What if we are meant to be separated? Part of destiny that collides, but not together.
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