A friend of mine asked me
how it was possible that love
can diminish so fast.
She wanted to know
where all the butterflies have gone to
and if they had landed safely upon the ribs of love.
She wondered if the roots are strong enough,
or if there is nothing more to it
than flowers that will sooner or later die,
when winter arrives.
Her eyes seemed weak, almost dead,
eventhough her voice was stable
and her face always radiant.
She had given love when there was nothing left for herself,
she has sacrificed her mellow lips
for burning tongues and sharp teeth.
It broke me to see her understand
that sometimes people leave while staying,
but what could I do?
What more could I say than
time will pass, and you will blossom again.