It is so nice to come home to a person,
who has been there all along.
It is so nice to have been cared by a warm hand,
by a heart that feels so tender,
like a pillow resting on my head.
Sometimes, a home is not a structure, it is a person.
Sometimes, you live inside a person.
Sometimes, she lives inside you.
Sometimes, she is outside looking in.

One day it will come at your feet,
like the brush of a wave in the sea,
one day you will realise,
the life you have created,
the air you breathe through your lungs.
You will stumble upon,
a certain voice saying,
this is your life, and now, this is you,
these are the memories you share,
and long for some time.
One day, you will contain all of these,
when you finally see,
you cannot simply replace them,
but taking these recollections,
one by one, through the other,
and somehow, you will be grateful,
that you are here,
and there will be no other person just like you.

I love you,
is this a mistake,
is this a myth,
hear me,
as I am announcing your place in my heart,
here, inside of me,
there is a different ocean expressing itself,
with good intentions,
with beauty,
and delicate breath and tenderness,
and quietly how you touch me with your hand,
your hand that does not,
deprive me of pleasure,
but gives me a sense of worth,
and what shall I give you now,
is it myself,
is it the mirror of my existence?

For the passing day,
the day mends,
the day follows the unison movement,
of your silhouette,
this consumable force you ****** in me,
are you my amorous joy,
a gliding dew that tickles the corner of my lips,
or the steady architecture of the anthill,
in its demarcation to defy the limits of love,
to bring the spirit of solitude,
the transcendence of our youth,
can it be for a moment or eternity,
that I am totally dissolved,
transforming your pain,
into red and yellow flowers,
the colorful penumbra of the rainbow,
and what does it give you: all of me.

Again,
there is an indication,
of tenderness between us,
it is like a pillow resting your head,
the onset of the new moon,
as is, that you and me repeats for its need,
rustling like a wing,
for once more,
you continually swarm me with your love,
your love that opens,
the wilderness of my heart,
and if your eyes are the only thing,
that sees me: habitually pleasing,
alluring in all familiar ways,
precedent and preferable,
and if it beckons to shape whatever,
we thrive for,
if it is longing or constant admiration,
you are favored to me my capricious one,
leave no traces or red kisses,
for I will miss you in every mild footsteps,
of the rain filling the earth,
with your warm welcome.

Each time,
I look at you,
may it be your face,
your lips,
your eyes,
or your shadow,
leaning against the tree,
I know,
I just know,
that this life,
is more than its circulation,
how long is eternity,
to be able to let you know,
how every thing becomes a little gift,
a grace uplifted from the heavens.