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Love is just a day.
It wakes in the morning
with a tenderness to be envied.
It doesn’t fit in the palm of your hand,
but it fits
in the space
between sleep and waking.
Love is a day…
a beautiful day…
The birds sing,
the flowers bloom,
the sun resonates on your skin,
and you can feel
its gentleness
caressing you.
The smell of coffee fills the room,
and you know
everything has a purpose.
You rise from bed,
leave it unmade,
as if the whole world
had paused
just to watch the sun rise.
Love is the most beautiful afternoon,
with colors dancing on the horizon,
and you find yourself compelled —
or finally deciding —
to write a poem for it.
You know
your heart can fit into words…
but sometimes,
love is terrible at translation.
It is the kind of sunset
you don’t ignore
just because it happens every day.
It is the one that bleeds colors
you will never
see the same way again.
You stop.
You forget the world around you,
as if, for a moment,
it had resolved itself —
with the childish promise
that it will leave.
And everything there
makes too much sense.
Orange leans into blue,
telling stories
stolen from the chests
of those who feel it.
As if it could last forever,
contradicting reason
and its own ending.
And the beauty comes
from the blooming of the sky
in a sickly dusk.
Love is only a day.
Exuberant,
sweet,
gentle,
frightening,
fearful,
funny,
foolish —
everything that makes us question
what we were
or complete
what we could have been.
Love is that pleasurable instant
where everything gathers
under the light of the sun,
and the shadows around
are soft and calm.
The warmth touches your skin,
asking for permission
while already saying goodbye…
And sometimes,
you try to hold the sun.
You ask:
“Hey… such a beautiful day…
please don’t go…”
But the sun doesn’t answer.
And when you try to hold it,
it burns —
leaving the world blurred,
but the mark
that it was there.
Love is a day,
a beautiful day…
A day in which you are filled with purpose,
where you find yourself smiling at the mirror
simply for loving.
Love is a day —
a day where you fall in love upon waking,
live love itself by the afternoon,
even knowing
it will end
at dusk.
…even knowing
you will still wish
the sun had stayed
Love is a day,
and no matter how long it feels,
it always ends
before you’re ready to let go.
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