SHE

She is joy.
She is to rise each morning with the illusion to see her.
She is to imagine that the life is an inexhaustible happiness.
She is woking up four or five times at dawn and not to be able to sleep,
and calm only until write everything to her of what I feel,
and I did not have time to told her yesterday

She is taking a breathing and thinking about what I will be dreaming.
She is the insomnia of the mornings
and the dawn of midnight.

She is the sun and the moon in the days of storm,
She is the telephone that does not call,
She is music that I have never listened
and that I try to invent to think better about her.

She is the danger of not knowing
that knows almost everything.
She is the water that I drink,
She is the snow that falls,
and the steps that I give.

She is what inspires me,
She is the words,
the pen, the letters,
and the the paper.

She is the most beautiful smile,
the most human and woman girl.

She is an angel.

And in small words,
although She doesn't care about me,
she is everything for me...

Only everything.