Write parnassian verses under my skin, because today I don't want something meaningful, but detailed and rational. I'll be impassible, but objective.
Nobody was never as memorable as you, maybe for having been someone sincere. So sincere that even I recall your poems: loose phrases in old papers.
I feel like we've never met when suddenly we began to seek perfection of words.
I feel like we've been lost inside a world which doesn't value us.
II
Write symbolist verses under my skin, because today I don't want something realist, but dreamlike and mysterious. I'll be suggestive, but subjetive.
Nobody was never as sentimental as you, maybe for having been someone crazy. So crazy that even I admire your lack of lucidity, declaimed by sung verses.
I feel like we've never met when suddenly we began to reject our own reality.
I feel like we've been lost inside a world which doesn't satisfy us.
III*
There's no perfection in those verses just like there are no colors in that life. And I feel like we've been lost when, in fact, we've been free, because we're freer when we're alone.