To whom we owe pride?

I need someone who doesn't need me.

to write on her skin, broken words.

bits and pieces of the revived times.

The fresh sea breeze, intersperses the memoirs

The waves are dying ghost,

exhaling its last sigh on the beach

which cover with its froth, thoughtful conches.

How many days lived, how many forgotten memories

it's the first autumn in your eyes

where the lovers are falling asleep

without worn-out kisses and distant infancies.

so why to dream?

Nothing of what surrounds us is real

the night will be cut with a glass with wine

will be naked in the party,

will look for kiss of light,

and will fade away to the contact of the dawn.

While you dream, you'll not hear what you hope to hear,

the illusions, the symphonies, the words which bleed

you'll not see what you want to see,

only a hell of life, a broken illusion

an unreality foreign to you.

so why to dream?

The dreamlike images are a burning desire

You'll not embrace to whom you love,

absent woman! come sink into my dream

you are my nightmare.

I need someone who doesn't need me.

so, I'll be able to dream and in the dream, remember...,

to remember the void which you left in the bedroom

to remember your words as a bitter mirror.

And so, in the pride of my dream,

To forget ...,

to forget those days to your side;

and to forget my pride for not going to get you.