I just met a girl.
She's as pretty as can be.
I'm falling for her.

Her bright, green eyes and
her short, blonde hair hipnotize.
I can't look away.

She is not for me.
She has a boyfriend back home.
Just my stupid luck.

Another failure.
One more strike on the record.
Will I catch a break?

They can **** our voice,
but they'll never muffle our screams.

I'm writing you a letter
to tell you that I love you.
I'm writing you a letter
to tell you what you know.
I'm writing you a letter
pouring out my blood turned ink.
I'm writing you a letter,
so check out your mailbox.

I usually find myself lost in the vast space that is your body,
gazing at the stars that adorn every milimeter of you,
forming constellations that I like to trace with my fingers.

I can't breath whenever I go out of myself to explore you.
The oxygen gets thinner.
You steal my breath, and make it your own.

Two full moons stare back at me.
Both beautiful. Both glowing,
reflecting the light that your smile gives away.

The gravitational pull of your hips keeps drawing me towards you,
revolving around your heart.
Close enough, and, still, far away.
Orbiting you.

A shooting star that lost its course.
It heads directly to you.
Attracted by the scenery of this planet you've become.
Expectingly you brace for impact.

3


2


1


  **Boom!

She is my beginning.

Since the day I met her, I haven't been able to take her out of my mind.
For better or worse, she made me a different man.
Everything I ever do, I do it to be a better man. To better suit her life. To better suit her soul.

But since the day I met her, we've hardly seen each other.
She lives in Vegas.
I live in Madrid.
She lives in my heart.
I live in her memory.

I'm desperate to be with her again, and it is taking its toll on me.
I'm going crazy.
I'm scared for her.

I'm scared for myself.

She is my end.