Calling you was the best (and random) way to start
a conversation. First talk. First chill. First poem (?)
It was nice to meet you,
and it is nice to be with you wherever we are.
Wherever we want to be.

I am resting my body against this empty chair.
I'm not here at all, sitting in this balm, thinking of this love of mine.
And I'm sure we know we love each other, but I'd like
to say it in person, holding you, kissing your forehead
and finally whispering: "I love you".

Because my wounds are gone since the day I met you.
Gone. A scar is gone every day.
And words cannot describe  the happiness I see in your eyes
every time we say hello, every time we sing
or tell each other our deepest secrets.
I love more every time I think of you.

As you are my Valentine, I'd like to say
the things you want are the things I desire.
And the sunlight that wakes us up in a cold morning of a cold Fall;
the other wounds that will never heal with time and love
and the giant raindrops, which bring coldness and despair
will never drag us down. For our love is beautiful and strong,

I love you,
I do.