Why we have them tied with a ribbon? why reviving the pain again and again by rereading the same lied promises that should had live forever?
Fire purifies, was said, it didn't purify the ones I received...

With shaking hands I scooped the ashes
looking after the leftovers of all the smiles,
but nothing was there, only a pile of gray
and the acrid perfume of the burned fire.

I would look behind me, but nothing was there,
asking myself, "what's the color of emptiness?"
hearing the echoes of my voice traveling
to a world where's no love, only absurdness.

Life was like a stained glass open window
to a forever that seemed true and timeless,
with thousands of tender written butterflies,
until that cruel and so unexpected final letter.

Love isn't walking on a treacherous road
where if a foot loses its hold abyss is waiting,
love is the place where all of our illusions are,
no danger there, only the most peaceful awakening.

The sun? gone long ago; the shadows, like witches,
scattered all over the broken ruins of one's life;
the only sound, the dying murmur of the ashes from
the last letter written on the blade of your knife.