I wonder how many names you had to forget
in order to remember your own,
for you were a masterpiece to this world,
as colorful and historic as the buildings of Porto’s ribeira;
yet broken, for I could see the cracks upon walls
and dying lightbulbs underneath blank ceilings.
I wonder how many heartbreaks you had to live through
in order to love yourself first,
for you thought your heart could hold all of them,
like within this part of the city;
too many temporary visitors dancing through its streets, leaving nothing but footprints behind
and too few lovers who stay to renovate the abandoned homes.
that your heart is more than a port for desire;