I know, I know, the eternal cliche "it is". Is yes and, when having, something much more sad will happen: I'm not going to more love. It is sad to know that one day i will see you having and not feel every millimeter of my body burn and enjoar. It is sad to know that one day I'll hear your voice or look at your face and the rest of the world is not going to disappear. The end of love is even sadder than our order.
My love is tired, beaten, he wants to leave me to be reborn after, beautiful and pure, in another corner, but i don't want another corner, I want to emphasize in our corner. I snap the beiradinha of my love, i beg for it, even if it gives more than it is in me, I beg you to at least this love that i feel for you don't let me, at least he, even though unbearable, don't give up.
