It hurts, it hurts so badly.
Not like feeling an knife nearly killing you, not like standing outside in the storm, it don't even hurts like when a lover is waiting, with the fear of it's most precious person has already passed away.
The pain you give is something else.
I feel it every time you pass by, silently with unimaginable elegance.
You're there, but it's like you are not existence
I think it's the pain of being alone.
I know you are there, always.
But you're spirit and soul is not present, and, I'm sorry to say it, my love, but most times, I don't know why I fell in love with you.
Because you have never said you loved me, just smiled at me, when I showed my feelings verbally.
Your eyes, so much dark eye-shadow that I could feel your lose of hope, shows me nothing.
Your mouth, thin red lips that remind me of a vampire, just smiles it usual smile.
Your body, that reminds me of everything, but the boy you are, just sits still.
But when I see you in that rose garden, I recall.
When you're here, you are always dressed in white. You don't wear make-up. You don't hide.
Your eyes, now just their natural pale color, adore me and follows me with curiosity everywhere.
Your mouth, lips slightly parted, smiles with such force I know you want me to be here for you.
Your body, with the dark, long hair, walks over to me and kiss my lips with more love than I've ever felt before.
And suddenly, the words you have not spoken, doesn't concern me anymore.