He was music and I was poetry,
and together we were a song in perfect armony.
He knew it and enjoyed every moment,
playing passionately every present chord
in that which for me was a dream come true.
In pieces I shattered myself
and put them through the lines
of a poem come from my heart,
which profoundly wished he were mine.
But he changed the key in which he played,
matching, yes, the words and their sound,
but not their meaning, nor their intention.

He was music and I was poetry,
and maybe our song was carved in destiny,
written in the stars in the form of my misery,
for I hoped for more, maybe for a symphony,
but what I got was a stunning melody
that sounded like anything but how my heart did.

He was music and I was poetry,
and we were destined to perform as such.
Together, but apart,
in love, but from afar.
for a little, but forever after.