I think of you and I feel the scent of my mother my mother, the most beautiful of all.
You are on the carousel of the festival inside me you hover around, your skirt and your hair flying Mere seconds between finding your beautiful face and losing it.
What is the reason, why do I remember you like a wound on my heart what is the reason that I hear your voice when you are so far and I can't help getting up with excitement?
I kneel down and look at your hands I want to touch your hands but I can't you are behind a glass.
Sweetheart,
I am a bewildered spectator of the drama that I am playing in my twilight.
