I could say I have a romantic heart,
but the mind is the romantic one.
It's the one that's infatuated with a kiss,
with walking hand in hand,
dreams of candlelight.
My heart only knows how to love,
it loves calmly,
it loves everyone.
My mind is like a capricious child,
it shakes shelves,
it cries, it seeks you.
While my heart awaits the genuine,
the divine.

I tried to define love,
but I couldn't come to an agreement.

Every heart has its own interpretation,
and I only came to one conclusion.

Love doesn't need to exist;
love endures throughout time.

How many times have I loved a memory,
and many times, only future ones.

How many times have I loved ideals,
how many times have I loved memories.

I have loved restlessness,
I have loved artificially.

I have loved without being loved,
how many times have I been loved without being able to love.

Sometimes I didn't love myself,
and at other times, I loved myself more than anyone.

How many times have I loved an imaginary person,
how many times have I loved no one.

How difficult it is to rationalize love.

in your expectations,
in your control,
in the "shoulds,"
in the "musts,"
in the "why didn't you do it?"

In part,
I'm to blame for your unhappiness.
And in part,
I want to be free.

The eternal dilemma:
to be or not to be...