The fact is that my story started with you.

When I started to wish to be a part of your life.

To know you, to care about you.

When I wished to live You.

That’s when I started to be myself.

When I started to know myself.

Love,

you could never break this cosmic yarn between us.

You can not see it,

but maybe you sometimes feel it,

sometimes it looses up, sometimes we pull it so tight,

whenever the October’s winds approach,

when the leaves cry and the moon shines her yellow shadow,

and my heart beats dreams of you running towards me,

kissing me in the middle of the street.

Your mouth smelling of wine or any other booze.

You always wanted me when you were drunk.

The texts, the phone calls, the unexpected visits.

My place in your heart belongs to the night.

The balloon that I gave you,

the one that said I love you,

is now broken.

The books were burned,

the photos got lost.

A promise to try.

I remember I told you that it wasn’t me,

that when you’ll finally fall in love with someone, nothing will stop you,

nothing will tell you to hide your love. You will love, just love, that person.

I am a postcard

I am the constant question; “do you think we would have been happy?”