Hyacinth.

No flower supposed to bloom in winter

but in the coldness of my heart

a love was giving birth to a flower

I asked you what kind of flower it was

and you told me the tale about Apollo's lover.

Maybe it wasn't a true love through the time,

but it was a love firm till death.

I guess everyone deserves to be loved

even if no one can love forever.

Between the pages of your story

I found a dry flower

it's lost its brilliance

and softness but

it smells of you

standing for love.

Can you imagine an angel like us?

and that angel in the crowd

walking close to us

but we don't notice there were wings to fly

so we're here waiting for some way to fill the emptiness.

If with your blood I could make a flower

all my grief shaped tears.. my entire life

I would know if you loved me.

I took the flower

and I put it inside a flask

to keep its perfume

along time later

it still smells of you.

I tore the petals out

maybe no, maybe yes

perhaps you taught me to love

but I'm not a good pupil.