You come late to dinner when my body
draws along a dull and monotonous day,
when it slowly dies, when my every cell
is tired, when the minutes and the hours
crumble in my fingers like grains of sand.
You come back late when I do not have
any desire to make you happy, when I’ve
shared all my sorrows with others, even
more with myself, when I think that one
day, like a flower, our love will blossom.
You come back late and don’t understand
that now I am in love with the loneliness.
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