I know they can see, I know they can tell, where my eyes linger, in what place your hands dwell. And what’s the point in hiding? There is no way we can quell. The secrets and I never got along so well.

As the days go by and the Earth rotates, even the moon grows tired of watching me wait. All parts of me still cry out your name. I can’t hear myself speak, everything burns just the same.

Out of all the flowers that wither in my mind, I protect the dearest, the prettiest kind. If only they lived on, if only you were mine. What’s left of us? Reminisce, what had been said and the genesis

Your kind words, or lack thereof. I mistook your silence for depth, and my patience for love. Holding a white flag - perhaps just an untied dove.

Vanilla mist, amatory. Floating in my scent, bathing in my glory. Suffocate, bite on the cherry. The tune of your heart sounds so weary. Golden honey, paradise. One knows blind lust has its price.

I would beg to hear your laugh. Direct it at me or not. Do as you please with my heart. Maybe even let it rot. Served on a plate, your words, I don’t dare discriminate.

For many years, I imagined the countries of the Iberian Peninsula as places of endless nightlife and music flooding the streets. 'A land where even the sun learns to slow down,'_ _were the words my father

The first cake, a moment of impatience, and a lesson worth keeping