Most of the hours that remain
Were filled with love.
In most of the days that have left us
She was with me and I was with her.
Most of the songs that enveloped the room
I was completely a storm.
And what remains finally from the disaster:
In most of the cases silence remains.
In most of the fleeing and furious disaster
I remember a cold breeze.
In most of the gusts and rain storms
It came back again and again.
In most of the songs I still remember her face,
Touching, not touching
And a tear of silence.
In most of the tears the room is reflected,
As if cutting her life short to die in bed.
There are days that remain,
And they are many, and they are hers.
And there are hours completely filled with her smell.
And most of the time she would stay
And when she wouldn't cry,
And if it's like this, or different,
I will stay with her.