Montréal Chronicles 14: Love is not (your) a problem
When you find something you just do not believe it.
You keep picking yourself, to be sure you are not dreaming.
Then you grab him, to make look in your eyes,
that you may be the only one who can make him feel this way.
Your whole life was a highway to this moment,
this surreal conversation,
about everything and nothing,
with an immense smile in our corner,
full of regrets of never been together before.
At least he was able to react. Defeated by the evidence.
He knows, too.
The world seems to stop the second he kisses you.
The eternity worth every single failure, in his arms.
Every painful step on the road to each other,
every other useless conversation with some strange.
But (why it’s always like this?)
Reality comes, consequently, planets leave their equidistance, in a stupid effort for being away.
Because fear (that evil) doesn’t let worlds become one.
You were so close. I grabbed your heart with my bared hands. I tried to keep it warm.
I was, at that moment, completely yours.
You were mine.
We were that miracle, that adventurous promise. Just a blink.
We never will.