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.