The Bittersweet Flavour.

Some things come to stay, no matter what
You can do anything
You can do nothing
It will stay by your side.
Doing harm or just blossoming your garden.
Remaining on scars, memories or on gifts.
It leaves a bittersweet flavour behind,
When something is too remarkable.
The rest it leaves without leaving us rest.

Love.
Seems simple these four words.
Seeing from the surface, the stories told, it is.
But when felt,
when not corresponded,
when making a fear born,
when known,
when lived entirely, it is very different.
Very different to explain.
A pure thing,
transformed in a book full of lives and feelings.
Transformed in a lust not even close to pure.
Transformed in happiness and then death.
Transformed in heritage, feed for survival, awake dreams.
It is bad, and when it is, it feels good.
It is good, and when it is, it is even better.

The bittersweet flavour of the past came to me,
Singing a hypnosis lullaby,
Like a siren in search for her decoy.
This bittersweet flavour stays in everywhere, anywhere we touch.
It ends up being a company,
Even though it could not help
The aches this soul have been passing through.
It bring some sorts of wellness, turnarounds even,
But it is still a bittersweet flavour to be feeling.