You dream of someplace
where the men have better
reasons for calling and you
no longer feel so alone.

Where the sun shines
without the inevitability
of the rain, where the skies
aren't blackened by the
smoke of his cigarettes.

You'll exhale the fresh air,
and you won't remember
the colour of his eyes or the
scar above his left brow.

You'll forget how he
smirked when you said
that you loved him.

You're moving on, the
past will no longer suffocate
you with the fragrance of
its cheap perfume, you'll
learn to count the days rather
than to tick them off.

One day you'll step
forward without looking
back and you'll realize
you are infinite and he is
just a glitch in time.

I once asked an old man,
"What happens when people open their hearts?
Do they get hurt?"
*"No,they get better," he replied.

I'll sing to myself.
The song of the devoted lovers of insanity,
In the orchids with their hands intertwined and their souls moving perfectly in sync.

I'll sing to myself,
The melody of the rain,
Which poured its heart out on the blooming flowers and the tall native trees,
Along with the tender breeze,
Rolling gently in the distance whispering your name.

I'll sing to myself,
The harmony of the brook,
Transcending into the deep seas,
Like it was designed, destined and fated to be a part of it.

I'll sing to myself ,
The song of the lonely mountains,
Beneath the moon, which have seen the untold sunrises, disheveled tides and the low valleys screaming in the hollow yet the alluring land.

I'll sing to myself,
The strain of love and of despair,
Of curse and of prayer,
Of disdain and of admiration-rare.
Of loneliness and only of tears.

I'll sing to myself about thee,
Because you're not here, to sing to me.