It was more than enough.

You calm my neuroses against time,
blossoming from watching me search for you
in my silences.

But that was enough.
We loved each other
without escaping.

How to get back to this place
where everything leads me to your silences,
deafening itself against the passage of time?
He never stops,
Sundays.

Celine said:
It's sad when people go to bed.,
It's sad when people go to bed.

Then I would escape further and further.
in my reason for being.
The gaze of a loved one,
the gentleness of a damaged word,
gentle eyes
of a misunderstood love.

The sun,
if the wind goes away
and has nothing to say.

How easy it is,
the silence of love and boredom,
forgetting tomorrow
without the scream
of a liquid love.

liquid of a single, continuous life,
the only direction
on a rainy morning,
the rain that gives way
to your happy gaze.
To go without aim or detour,
back to simplicity
of abundance and ignorance,
the innocent hand extended into the soul,
the soul of a day
who is no longer here.

It's beautiful to forget.
when nothing is there,
the internal and melodious collapse,
that's learning
of a lively life
through animation
which constantly ruins the mind,
without control of a danger
to rebuild
with modesty.

It was more than enough.