How can I tell you I love you?
If you can see it in every kiss,
in every hug.
How can I tell you I love you?
If I shout it in how I care for you,
respect you, choose you.

And how can I say I don't love you?
If every verse and letter I write
comes from you.

If one day you need me to tell you,
and there are no words, no signs...
it's because you're no longer appreciating.

I have a very hurried rush
that wants to hurry me.
It presses like a farmer's boot
on the sweet fruit of wine.
The urgency to arrive,
to find,
to solve,
to be or undo.
It squeezes, but does not crush.
It binds, but releases.
I run as slowly
as the second hand of a clock:
second by second,
inch by inch.
As far as one can go, as close as one can fly,
as high as one can fly, as low as one can be.
As sad as one can be happy,
as innocent and sincere...
as one's soul can allow.