I whisper underneath my breathe, as the sun retreat over the horizon. A prayer, thousand wishes but above all be safe my love. I’ll open the windows, maybe you’ll come as a breeze to visit. I wish you find the little note I wrote you, under the pillow on your side of the bed. I wrote it when I was lucid, before the past become my present and my present a distant future I pray never to be true. Maybe it will make sense and you’ll finally believe that I wasn’t lying when I said a life without you is not a life but a punishment. A punishment for not praying enough for your safety. You will get what I meant when I said I would be lost between two worlds of a past I wish could be our forever and a present that feels like a nightmare. I’m slowly losing my sanity, fantasies now my new reality because I refuse to accept that you gone. How painful is it, to love a thing that death can touch? I can not begin to tell because I’m in loss of words and isn’t that irony. For a man who does not cry but bleeds on paper. I wonder what happens to an artist or a poet when he losses his muse. Does art flee from him, does words flee from him and he becomes empty. I’m no poet or artist but without you. I am empty.The only word I write these days is ‘yours’ as if from the word only the world will know I am yours, my love.