How could i make you know the way my poems become epistolaries and stories got life by the aura lit by you.
How could i dream of stars if the sky is holded by you.
How could i be freeze while alive with thoughts.
How could my ink continues to bleed though there rest dead talks.
And for the magic you spelled the castle of my insecurities fall apart.
From the dust a bud arise.
Hoping to get watered.