Words of love

Sat on the bench to look at the sea. Boats. The city. The clouds which are stretched. Languorously. I hear your melancholy. The delicate sound of the violins of your heart. Who cry not to know. Where goes time? That which is stretched in you. Depriving you. Of this joy which attaches you so much. Cutting down your life by imagination. For the benefit of this melancholy. Who pushes you to imagine that elsewhere. You will find happiness. But, it cannot live in you. The colors of your heart are gray. Incompetents to see the world differently. However. I tell you the opposite. I lie you. So that you hope. That my lie protects you. To put safe from the winter, of all these snows. Of all these chasms of which you could not raise you. I like your brittleness. The hot blood of your sensitivity. Being spread out over the carmine of your lips. That I like to embrace. That I want forever.