Original

Every morning, I think of you,

though I try not to.

I long to erase your memories from my own,

to leave behind all that we once lived.

I pretend to find your face in other faces

and your eyes in other eyes;

to reflect your steady gaze within them,

almost always…

But when evening arrives,

these cold illusions strike against my reality:

you are my true and original desire;

the others, brief dreams reflected

in momentary fantasies

and fleeting copies,

which fade away in the cruel nights

when your unforgettable memory

becomes so real and shakes my reason,

reviving my passions and silencing my doubts.

You are not a copy,

you are my original dream.