Where time learns to stay...

Not like the lightning that flashes for an instant, but like the mountain that teaches the horizon the secret of staying. You are not a mirage born of the tiredness of my eyes. You are the deep river that learned to carry the sky without breaking a single star. If the universe wrote letters, I would sign them with your name. If silence had roots, they would grow under your steps. You have turned my winters into trees that know no cold, and my nights into lamps lit with the oil of the moon. Since you live in my bosom, time ceased to be a hunter to become a garden. The hours no longer run away; they sit to watch you as sunflowers chase the patience of the sun. There are hugs that are harbors, kisses that are bonfires, glances that are oceans. You are all that and something that has no name yet. You are the secret breath of the constellations, the invisible bridge where hope crosses barefoot toward dawn. You didn't come to occupy a space. You came to widen the universe. And now I understand that there are presences that do not fit into words, because they were woven with the ancient thread from which God embroider the things destined not to disappear. That's why when the world asks me what place you occupy in my life, I don't respond. I simply look up, and let the sky, in all its enormity, try to look a little like you. Ana Ocaña