I believe in the naive love that corrupts my heart,
in the volcano of numb emotions that falls apart,
in the sweet comfort, the one from late nights,
I believe in the words of my „still” unwritten sights.

I believe in emotions carried by the sweltering wind,
in you, for you’ve never given up, or let yourself be thinned,
in your paintings, painted in black and white or mute,
I believe in the silence that listens to your hush in the dispute.

I believe in the steam of the coffee as a trophy of caffeine,
in the healing of the wounded soul, without any morphine,
in the roads that led me once towards you, from the stars above,
I believe in remembering, in the feeling of true love.

And I believe in the sewing of hearts, the wiping of tears,
in the walking of the soul, the defeat of sweet fears,
in the sacred angels who walks beside you smoothly,
in gestures that can be read step by step. That moves me!

I believe in the couple who loves without searching for any reason,
in summer’s hot stones, or lazy spring that follows its season,
in the stomachs where the butterflies are thrilling like crazy,
I still believe in the charm that fails to become immune and hazy.

I believe in the enthusiasm of being in love, in all of its forms,
in the shy and unblemished spring, and the thunderstorms,
in the iris of my so-called romantic eyes, like the blue sky,
in the wings of angels, the ones who never die.

Will I be able to believe tomorrow?


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