Let it drip and fall from my fingertips until it reaches yourself, whom I hold.
I want it to stop begging, running, not find itself... or find you.
What happens to yours? Does it also cry?
Never for us, not even for them.
Oh, poor love in grief! It can't abandon us. We don't know how to leave it.
We spill it for anybody.
One day, ours will crash and their fragance will impregnate our skin.
It may happen, it may not.
One single drop watered a whole garden.
In drought times i don't want it to wither.
Let me know when your sky turns grey,
my flowers need to drown once in a while.
Did you feel it? That was a waterfall
and your reply was spitting on me.
Does it echoes when I scream?
Or is there a whispered lullaby?
I'll drink it.
If you somehow get me,
then it's probably obvious.
To me, love is neither energy or fire
but tiny drops of everything we need.
From affection to lust,
devotion to the intimate,
it's all hidden in the mind.
When there's nothing in ours
there's no other purpose
rather than falling in someone else's.
It only whispers and shouts.
You'll beg for it to be lying
cause love will kill us all.
If I'm going to die, then so be it.
Help me to leave.
Softly.