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.