This is a fictional text, any resemblance to people or events is purely coincidental.
There are truths as simple as the fact that we cannot control our emotions. There's no way to snap your fingers and say "love," or close your eyes and say "fall out of love." These are simple truths, but they didn't reach this young woman tonight, who cried, and is crying. Who grieves for feeling a guilt that doesn't exist, for condemning herself with a sentence that doesn't fit, for judging herself for an impossible crime. But she cries, and as she cries, she watches over the sleep of those she loves, without the two of them knowing that at this moment, each is as close to themselves as they are to God.
And in this mystery, I discovered so much. I know today why I never confessed my feelings to that girl. Why would I? If I did, she wouldn't reciprocate; she's incapable of it, and I would cause her embarrassment, pain. No, no. Better to look at her from afar, to rarely return a smile. And what a smile!
I'll draw another flower. I'll give flowers to all the stars, to all the angels I meet on my path. Then I'll be able to give her a flower too, without her knowing it's 'my' flower, that she's my star. I give flowers to all the stars, because that way I can give mine to my beautiful one, without her scolding my audacity.
Deep down, I think she senses me. I travel imagining that one day she'll find me as I found her. It will be a sad end for me if I trust in love as I do. "Call me"... I don't think she even has my number, "damn, see if you can get it from someone."
They've already called... "but not my flower," when it's not her, I'll say. What can I do? I wanted to encapsulate each paragraph with the letter of her name, but her name doesn't allow this action. Believe me!
Whoever speaks of cowardice, of fear... doesn't know me,...
it's really passion,... pure and innocent madness. And this has no explanation,
Call me!
This is a fictional text, any resemblance to people or events is purely coincidental.
There are truths as simple as the fact that we cannot control our emotions. There's no way to snap your fingers and say "love," or close your eyes and say "fall out of love." These are simple truths, but they didn't reach this young woman tonight, who cried, and is crying. Who grieves for feeling a guilt that doesn't exist, for condemning herself with a sentence that doesn't fit, for judging herself for an impossible crime. But she cries, and as she cries, she watches over the sleep of those she loves, without the two of them knowing that at this moment, each is as close to themselves as they are to God.
And in this mystery, I discovered so much. I know today why I never confessed my feelings to that girl. Why would I? If I did, she wouldn't reciprocate; she's incapable of it, and I would cause her embarrassment, pain. No, no. Better to look at her from afar, to rarely return a smile. And what a smile!
I'll draw another flower. I'll give flowers to all the stars, to all the angels I meet on my path. Then I'll be able to give her a flower too, without her knowing it's 'my' flower, that she's my star. I give flowers to all the stars, because that way I can give mine to my beautiful one, without her scolding my audacity.
Deep down, I think she senses me. I travel imagining that one day she'll find me as I found her. It will be a sad end for me if I trust in love as I do. "Call me"... I don't think she even has my number, "damn, see if you can get it from someone."
They've already called... "but not my flower," when it's not her, I'll say. What can I do? I wanted to encapsulate each paragraph with the letter of her name, but her name doesn't allow this action. Believe me!
Whoever speaks of cowardice, of fear... doesn't know me,...
it's really passion,... pure and innocent madness. And this has no explanation,
Call me!
