I am the stranger who loves you in silence

I am the stranger who loves you in silence, A merchant of echoes in the endless bazaar of nostalgia, From the shadow where chicory flowers bow their heads to pray, I whisper to you, sweetly clear and unheard. I am the stranger hidden in the shadow of a reticent love, Who kisses the pages of a dusty volume, filled with poems that would weep, On evenings that sink into the dim light of a forgotten world, Where I call upon the muse, in a late and solitary recital of yearning. My gaze upon you, an unfinished poem of ardor, With every passing moment, you become a string of divine pearls, You let me drown in the sea of your remembrance, Sailing on waves of longing and on the ship of dreams. In this world, you are the untamed sonnet, and I— The stranger who once knew the depth of your eyes, Now, I cry out to you through an echoless abyss, unhinged, I return to search for you, dreaming that maybe, maybe you will come to me, someday... I am the stranger who loves you in a world of perfect illusions, With a soul dancing upon the ruins of a forgotten fortress, Sifting through the ashes of your abandoned memories, Calling out your name in the wind, unheard, tirelessly, even beyond death. Every day without you is an eternity of unfulfilled longing, And the embodiment of loneliness clutches me tighter, I am the stranger who wants you as the moon craves the night, And I adore you like the poet who, in the dark, still calls out for his lost muse... I am the stranger who will not spare your shadow from my mind, In the library of time, where we are but a burnt book, And on every page, you will find written just twoo words, I love you... I love you... in an eternal whisper, etched.