I want you to know
that you cannot have me.
We are third-world countries
apart.

Our views are different;
yours – passionate,
mine – practical.

You hear beautiful music
in the noisiest place; whereas 
that same area
disturbs me.

Where you see opuntias,
I see prickly spines
waiting 
to pierce my
shield of sensibility.

Your sanguinity spites me,
yet it resounds from within—
a dreamer’s echoes in my veins.

Nonetheless, you have taught me,
guiding me through my
self-inflicted stress.
Your persistence has
deprived me of
pessimism, so

I thank you.