I look at my hands carefully,
they are containers of lost dreams,
they've tried to cling to names,
that slip away like whispers and forgetfulness.
Promises drawn in the mist,
gestures of love that the wind carries away,
illusion that gets entangled in the moon,
shining for an instant, then shattering.
Each line carries a story,
of struggles, of laughter, of encounters,
marks of my passage along these paths,
traces engraved in moments.
But the truth is that they are sand,
that slips through my fingers,
like time, which never slows down,
where yesterday turns into dreams left behind.
Every caress that I dreamt in silence,
every heartbeat that was once fire,
today lives in my hands, in a single verse,
stories of love that are no longer a game.
I look at my hands, I look at them calmly,
they are faithful witnesses of everything I've lived,
even if the names, the souls escape,
today, in my chest, what is dear to me remains.
