The Love of my life

The love of my life does not have haste to arrive. It can come to any time or it never were so close to me as now. It has patience to be born and to die every day or to run away from me forever. The love of my life is not who calls me in the middle of the night and wakes me up while I sleep without dreams, but it knows that I wait that everything happens in the foreseen schedule. It can be in the brightness of a lost look between the uncertainties or in the occult gesture of a soul forgotten in the crowd. The love of my life does not say what it thinks, but makes what it is necessary to keep me happy. It is in some place and goes to hear me when I sing our song. The love of my life does not have face nor words to confuse me and lives one day of each time so that I perceive the reality that moves the unexpected meeting of the imagination. It cannot be seen by nobody until my eyes discover the blue infinite that hides the true and sensible one of the life. The love of my life does not understand me because it does not know to count up to ten and it remains in the mind of who left anything without saying good bye.