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There are loves that are loved in silence,
like whispers lost in the wind,
melting pot of glances that never meet,
they shine in the shadows, their fire is slow.
In the distance, their hearts beat,
an echo that travels, without direction or owner,
distant paths, wandering stars,
in their dreams they keep the same commitment.
Perhaps they arrived late, in a troubled world,
fleeting hours play and settle,
their hands never cross, a lament,
an elusive destiny that never faces.
There are unfinished loves, like blank verses,
poems that time refuses to write,
they are stories kept in old songs,
where love sighs, where the soul goes to die.
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