We met in the early spring.
On those cold days when
flowers, just like humans,
don’t know whether to open their petals
or protect themselves from the harshness of spring.
We went to a place
where a girl named Morena made her house,
and in that day in cold-frosty spring
no one could stay outside,
We talked and we laughed,
and we talked and we laughed,
and after some time, with her skinny fingertips
she took out of her bag a book
with the name on it, “The Boy Who Lived”.
(and as I remember, that was it!)
Just two- or three days ago I could’t realize
that I, was the boy who lived!
The one who lived and survived till he reached the day
when her glowing eyes, would meet, and stare into his lightless eyes.