The humid summer morning woke up with a cup of hot coffee.Never such longed-for monotony of every day... And yet, that coffee mischievously brought the unfathomable deep blue of your April gaze that I thought forgotten in the attic of what never happened.
I have remembered with fruitless longings of disdain, that forgotten poetry that you recited with your extroverted silences, that in dreams I prolonged with your lips playing with the honey of my kisses. In that spiritual and indelible epiphany, a distant angelic silhouette took my coffee cup.
My hands immediately recognized her small but elongated pianist's fingers that struggled to touch mine.
I recognized within myself the depth of your gaze of stormy sea, as if the onslaught of the waves reminded me of your name and each thunder warned me of your proximity. It was you, plump and infinite; celestial and mythical; like that time several equinoxes ago.
Would it be that during our none blue night the darkness became revelation and the Parousia dramatically arrived us, and finally our glorified bodies became one poetry?
In the beginning of everything, the Logos existed and nothing was made without Him. In the beginning of these lines, you existed. And this story was written for you.
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