Chapter 22: The little poetry
How much I like it when Sajira writes small poems! He settles on the bed and begins to write as if it were an angel who dictated them and not his mind. It is sweet when he writes. She sits cross-legged and caresses her velvety knees like the skin of a Carthusian.
The cat, NEKO, In Japanese, I like it to die for and then it reminds me very much of a soft pillow on which to rest my head. I hope these feelings never leave me and indeed intensify more and more.
Sajira was washing dirty dishes and is now playing on the playstation. I think I would like a NEKO all to ourselves.
And then invariably I think about our wedding even if I haven't mentioned it yet.
I feel scared and a little out of place. If he looked at me badly and refused what should I do? What if he sends me away from home?
Oh my god I couldn't breathe her sweetish aroma and I couldn't put my fingers in her fuchsia and blue hair.
Its sweet rainbow is a cascade of energy in my summers and springs. And when it rains I wait for nothing but his head on my heart, to send the most beautiful message of love to the whole world: she is mine.
Mine like a Christmas package that you are afraid to discard, mine like the fruit that I always eat after lunch to strengthen the immune system.
She is even better than cherries. It has the color of springs on the lips even when it is cold.
I warm it up as much as I can. How I want and how I want.
Tomorrow I will make you the great proposal ... I am no longer in the skin! The big step so young.
But love has no limits. The great poets and great writers also said it ... we should all experience great and immense magic.
Everyone except anyone.
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