It was perhaps a genocide of hopes
another collapse, somehow foreseen
oh but my sadness,
it had only one meaning.

All my intuitions gathered to peek at my lament,
and they succeeded.

Hitherto I had build and demolished again and again your crosswalks with me,
Hitherto I had bet on inventing a truth.

But you,
you found a way,
a most tender relentless manner to remove my love,
with one single blow, it was taken away from the suburbs of your future life,
it was wrapped in nostalgia,
carried for a mile and then for another one,
and then very slowly, without notice from that night's breeze
you left it, just there, alone to his own luck,
that ain't much.

I think you are right: it is one's fault for failing to win another's heart;
not the fault of the excuses, nor time.

It has been a long time, way too long,
since I confronted the mirror like last night,
and he was relentless like you,
but not tender.

Now I'm alone, I am frankly alone
it is always difficult to truly admit one's misfortune,
before going back to my gloomful winter chambers
drying my eyes thoroughly
just in case they glance at you falling back in the fog
while your reminiscence comes back to me.