Maybe at this hour you are sleeping,
and here I am writing,
whispering in the breeze my sincere love,
reliving instants that time has been weaving.
Your shadow unfolds between dreams,
while the stars, jealous, listen to me,
and in every word I dedicate to you,
the waves of the sea rain my longings.
Perhaps not even the moon will tell you my longing,
but my heart beats unrestrained,
drawing a verse in the middle of it,
overflowing tenderness that your essence reveals.
The hours slip away like sand in my hands,
and here I wait for you, in my tyrannical verses.
Perhaps you are only an echo in the wind,
but my love secretly rises, immense.
