Between 4 imaginary walls

I look into your eyes.
We are lying down on a bed on our sides. Your bed.
I start speaking to you in a foreign language.
I tell you that you are the most beautiful girl in this city.
That it seams you keep a frozen kiss of wind on your forehead.
That your eyes are like black holes that vacuum my soul.
You smile. You don’t understand what I say.
You can’t imagine how much I like falling in Love.

I try not to think about pain,
try to hold onto the moment, the perfect moment I’m trying to create.
But I’m a fatalist and a Romantic.
My imagination rushes off, escapes my fingers into the wild blue desert of speculation.
I feel the sand crushing us, spoiling the silence.
I turn around.
I want to cry but I know I won’t be able.
Ideally I would stand up, get dressed and leave.
Maybe this time I will,
to save us.