If I tell you about him,

will you laugh or will you cry?

Or, maybe, you’ll just listen

quietly and pious,

as if, all of my words

would awaken choirs of angels?

I loved him.

Now he’s gone

away in a place of coldness,

icy waters

and loneliness.

I was his light,

long before the thunders

became his only guide.

I’m being too honest,

in a very silly way,

to tell you that I call him

in nights with cruel light

and angels?

Will you laugh, I wonder,

if all that I’m confessing

is nothing but a lie

made to keep me sane

without him?

Will you?