The Seventh Angel

I know that, even though you don't see me, you feel me, I realize it when you smile gently looking at the infinite, and I stand there in front of you, like a breath of wind, caressing your face. I prefer to be like this, incorporeal, volatile as time, void, because then you can fill me each day with your essence. I like to be air, so that you can breathe me in and I can infiltrate inside your body, where I transform into vital energy, and I go down the path to your immortal soul. At night, when all is dark and your eyes close, I read your thoughts, not those that are common to everyday life, but those that come from deep within the ocean that surrounds you, from that universe in which you pulsate in the same frequency of my soul. I spend hours watching you sleep, inducing dreams in you, recreating in you enchanted places and flowers that I plant in the hidden garden of your being, as if blindly tattooing the immaculate skin of that body which doesn't belong to me. De querer ser tudo, corpo, alma e vida, acabei morrendo nessa tentativa de me fazer matéria em tuas mãos, de tentar ser homem na tua vida. Fui-me dissipando, como a névoa ao romper do dia, para ser apenas um anjo que te guarda, profundamente na alma. Because I wanted to be everything, body, soul and life, I ended up dying in this attempt to make myself matter in your hands, in trying to be man in your life. I dissipated, like mist in the break of day, only to become an angel that guards you, deep in the soul.