yet in love,
to jump is to fall into it.
Then, what is an abyss, love?
To learn the lips of the abyss,
where the fall must be a guess
without vertigo or doubt;
knowing that part of writing
—as a phenomenon—
is not to accept the abyss:
no end of time,
no path,
no fall at all;
and yet,
you throw yourself into it,
as if they all wished to exist.
What is a legend, love?
Flowers beyond,
far beyond the limits of writing.
Does that abyss need to exist?
You can throw someone’s lips
into the fall,
only to recognize the lips,
but you can’t throw her heart
—heart that echoes yours.
May the abyss of a love story
be a legend—
there, time deepens its depth,
and distance deepens the soul.
If we don’t need reasons,
why do we still look for them?
If we are two abysses,
two hearts,
two lips,
always two ‘you and me’s,
searching for the meaning of this poem
and writing the next to come
—love.