I do not love you except because I love you; I go from loving to not loving you, From waiting to not waiting for you My heart moves from cold to fire. I love you only because it's you the one I love; I hate you deeply, and hating you Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you Is that I do not see you but love you blindly. Maybe January light will consume My heart with its cruel Ray, stealing my key to true calm. In this part of the story I am the one who Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you, Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.

Green was the silence, wet was the light, the month of June trembled like a butterfly.

Love is a clash of lightnings

I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes, my rage, forgetting everything, I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic shops, and courtyards with washing hanging from the line: underwear, towels and shirts from which slow dirty tears are falling.

When I sleep every night, what am I called or not called? And when I wake, who am I if I was not I while I slept?

Today is today, and yesterday is gone. There is no doubt.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long.