Someone in my words

I am completely jealous! You cried.

 Could someone else be the girl of the poetry?! Who's the girl in the poems?! 

You asked in that crazy tone while the tears were falling down.

Could someone else receive that love?

Can someone deserve your thoughts?

Will another girl deserve your imagination?

It is disgusting, you said as a reproach.

Because all your reality is not the half of all your written words.

I have dreams where you're writing about me.

I have mornings when I think I deserve your happiness.

I have wet fantasies in which you describe the feeling of my lips and the magic of my kisses.

I have nightmares about your abandoning the melancholy of writing about something else.

And in the end, I always have the half of you.

I want to be the girl for whom you will go through deserts. The one of the flowers, the one of the rum.

I want to be the one that you describe with the delicacy of the finest touch, I want to have all your stars, and I want all your love.

I want to be in your Spanish, I want to be your French. English is not enough and German is far away.

I want the heroic letters you're writing to her pleasure. I want the descriptions of you inside me, I want the plethora of the dirty words.

I want to be the stories, the anecdotes, the poems. I want to be the voice.

I firmly need to be something in your words. 

That day she was lost in the middle of the letters, that morning everything had gone.