There are loves that live as a couple,
under the radiant sun of home,
glances that shine and reflect each other,
the same walk, a sweet love.
Others are shadows, silent whispers,
secrets kept in the heart,
where the fire burns in stolen embraces,
and silence carries its own song.
Formal loves, with shining rings,
share promises and the same destiny,
while others, with distant steps,
meet in nights, dreaming the way.
The forbidden play in the balance,
defying the world, with repressed ardor,
their lips meet in the dawn,
an eternal instant, a lived desire.
There are perfect marriages, it is said,
with laughter and dancing, before the sacred altar,
but deep down, the soul surrenders itself
to a love that cannot be declared.
Each heart chooses its own path,
in the labyrinth of the permitted and the hidden,
passion unfolds, it never stops,
because love, in its essence, is always a tumult.
