Starry, starry night
Paint your palette blue and gray
Look out on a summer's day
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul
Sometimes we love without thinking, like every word I could have written here for you.
Sometimes words can not reflect more, and we go by means that do not belong to us, but create connections between the purest and the real.
Reasons.
We are full of reasons.
Shadows on the hills
Sketch the trees and the daffodils
Catch the breeze and the winter chills
In colors on the snowy linen land.
For me, you were a reason I never thought to let go, in all honesty.
But, something I can notice is, no matter how strong you love,
how many notes you write,
how many dreams you have assumed, you never know what it's like until the reality you never noticed takes you by the shoulder, and lets you know.
The home stopped being what I believed. And the illusion, painted in a personal painting, no longer has a sense of belonging.
Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
"You did not paint again," many say. But when the motive changes, it's hard to get your eyes on the art that never belonged to you.
They would not listen, they did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now
It's to see all that you could create thanks to your illusion,
thanks to the love that made you feel alive, you only have to look at that, and to know that no matter how much you create, reality will never be completely safe in your own hands.
Along with my words,
and every poem that was not my property, with every brushstroke full of sighs of a painting that was for you and that in the end could have been in your hands.
For they could not love you
But still your love was true
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night
I take the brush off and turn off the piano, because it is no longer a dream that I share, nor the same as I could have dreamed.
However, I will soon turn them on again.
Although I do not like to talk about this, having passed the time,
I appreciate every bit of love that could correspond to me, and every dream you made me paint in my nights.
You took your life, as lovers often do
But I could've told you Vincent...
Every tear that I could not tell you, and every smile that was for you, as someone with whom I wanted to share my life fully.
I want to leave this here,
although I never had the courage,
I want to let know that this dream had its awakening,
and I can admit, that I never got so fond.
I hope to keep the illusion back in me, although this is part of what I will have to deal with in my life, I will do it as it may.
Because
there are still stars to count in the night, although to be far away, I can admire, love never had so much sense, not so much pain, but I do not regret it, it has made me grow.
It makes me start again.
... This world was never meant for
One as beautiful as you.
This is my last poem for you, as a lover, please read me as you like.
