Question mark.
This is what you were in my mind
every time I was looking at you.
And then I was confused.
I was confused because I learned to put my punctuation marks
on a white paper without limits.
I learned to value them, but I didn’t count yours.
I thought your question mark was expensive,
like those which cannot fit in a conclusion
but you still write them with your whole soul,
because you think that the coherence is missing without them.
And yes. They are more than necessary,
when your inner world is burning like hell.
I thought your question mark was expensive,
And I said I would transform it,
in order to not lose the meaning in the end.
Dot. This is what you mean for me now.
A dot.
Even if I have never written it with my heart.
This is what I tell everyone that you are.
But every night I undress you,
And I’m dressing you again,
In the way I want.
In the way, my mind imposes that it wants you.
In the way, I fell in love with you.
As a question mark.
