It’s your history

polloHe’s a guy or maybe a troubadour who used to write on a sheet of paper.
She’s a girl or maybe a angel who used to fly with her wings of glass.

He used to play his guitar, he used to have ideas of love.
She used to throw him kisses as gentle as a flower.

He caught her in a night of passion
He’s loved her since
She launched moans that overshadowed their ears.

He stumbled with her eyes, he began to love her!.
she always knew that she isn’t able to feel love for him.

He said her “I know that you are worth a sigh”
She said him “I’m sorry”

and he wanted to stop the time.
and he wanted to rotate counter-clockwise.
and he wanted to dream with her smile when they only was friends.

if live made them to go for different paths
the end, they returned to find
They returned to kissing, they returned to make the love.

He filled all her skin of sensations.
She’s quaked of love, of passion and of madness.

He had to go far of home, far of his country.
She too.

They won’t return to find,
they won’t return to kissing…