Source
I am a poet who misses the days,
the nights full of sweet promises,
of your breath on my skin, soft melodies,
of furtive caresses, of love without certainties.
Tell me no more of your sad stories,
of withered loves, of distant embraces,
for in my heart, hope persists,
and in the shadow of absence, I still keep your plans.
Your kisses like the sun, warm and burning,
They drew in my world an eternal rainbow,
and now, between whispers, I lose myself in currents
of a flowing river, uncertain and tender.
I am a poet who misses the wandering,
the days and nights filled with your embrace,
but I write of absences, of a distant love,
with the living hope of finding new strokes.
Why do we have to keep memories long after they are gone? Your poem captures two worlds flung apart; the world of companionship when all's right with the world, and the world of solitude, when nothing feels right. Sometimes, in the second world, we crave the first, for me though, the uncertainty kills the longing, for I fear the outcome wouldn't change.