Before I loved you, I was a wanderer, I was dressed in light green and empty from within; now my soul has the shape of a violin, and it sings of you, day and night… It shines so bright that sometimes I fear its light may tear open my thin skin and leave a mess on my new velvet dress, a stain the size of Enceladus, 3 inches above the exact point where my left ventricle ends. Before I loved you, I couldn’t tell the stars apart, but they no longer hold any secrets, now I am the one that places them in the sky at night.
I look at you and try in vain to paint you, my colours are limited and you have shades and tones with no name and my hands are useless. I look at you and try in vain to write about how your smile resembles the moment the Milky Way was born; I wasn’t there, but my atoms remember, they remember you being there, a part of the nothing there was. I look at you and try in vain to count the wonders I learned about in school, they’re outnumbered, they have gathered in this tiny cage built from flesh and bones. You have the light of the Universe flickering, twisting and twirling in your eyes, your pupils, two black holes, are surrounded by Saturn’s rings of ice, your breath is the love child of the cold wind from the North and the fields of lavender in France. Your lips, made of Vesuvius’ hot lava, are parted by the Dead Sea and they ignite flames deep into the core of the Moon. Black carbon is your hair one day, and the shade of Comet Hyakutake on its dying bed another day, the Sun in November this week and the wheat fields next month. Naked you are blue like Aurora Borealis, you have galaxies tangled in your hair and stardust in the crinkles of your nose. Your back is the ancient map of the world used by Vasco da Gama to connect the oceans, and I wish to add up all the dots and then divide them by seventy-two, the number of days it took me to fall for you, to find out the position of the lost city of Atlantis. Naked, you are Neptun and the wildfire, the serpent from Eden and a red dove, naked you are the sunset in Seoul and the sunrise on Mars. You are the shudder of the mountains in the spring and the trail of light above the Atlantic. You are a broken clockwork and I forgot to check the time, but the mirror in my right pocket is telling me it’s late, almost too late.
In this part of the story, I am the one who sings, but my voice is cracked and I don’t understand the lyrics anymore. In this part of the story, I am the one who dances, but my feet are tired and the stars have already gone to bed. I am the one who loves, but dead leaves are falling quickly, silently, and I have found myself in them. I am the one who hopes, but the angels have sinned and the skies are trembling. I am the one who waits on the shore, but the black ship lost its track and the Moon is hiding behind a skyscraper in Tokyo. I am the one who dies little by little, but there’s no one to understand an extinguished language on this barren land between the two palms of yours.
I am the one who loves, and I love you when butterflies die at dawn, when the sea screams in pain when the sky is turning pink as the cherry trees. I love you as a heavenly light is to be loved, with no boundaries, with no fear and no reason. I love you with all I’ve got and with all I am, now and always.
I am the the one who warms, but here has arrived the polar night and I’m freezing.
