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I hate the feeling of doing right things in wrong times...
but how, and why, could i let you go now?
could i ever get rid of you smell? or the taste of your lips?
could i ever let the elvish touch of your skin run away from my toughts?
don't get me wrong for my misconduct,
for until seven sunrises ago i used to keep on trying, in every minute, to convince myself that you'd never love me...
and, believe... i almost did.
sorry, my mister, if my soul have the bad habit of flying;
i'm probably trying to find out if this all is true or just another wandering of my passioned mind...