You could have been my metaphor, a verse
on my heaven, written with capital letters,
to be my step in my slow walk, not in my curse
but on my journey on paradise's feathers.

You could have been my suave song
as the nightingale's from the forest,
to feel the spring in the air so strong
signing its name on my soul, so modest.

You could have been my hot steamed verbs
of the coffee each and every morning,
when we could have tell unspoken words
and wake up daily to life, without any warning.

You could have been my love from my soul
stored in the small corner of my heart's balcony,
to be the stamp and the header on my paper roll,
to be my shadow and sunshine in my agony.

But you chose to remain a memory from the past,
a pale sunray, vulnerable in its very own shine,
a memory that I will think about without being asked
when I will look for a sweet shelter... or a sign.

I know everything will pass beside and over us,
for then the sun to reappear, all over again,
the wind will whistle over the naked shoulders,
souls will hide a treasure behind the aching pain.

We will be precious gem and secret for each other,
we will be the mystery hidden in our palms,
without us having regrets in front of our Father
that we... we may have loved each other once.