The man I love is born to be a traveler. He is the most amazing story-teller I have ever known and that's what makes our relationship so alive and special. I have written this little poem when he was in Peru, telling me all the stories about a country I have never seen, but he made me feel like I was there, And it was magical.
He’s a sailor,
You can call him with many names;
But only I am lucky to know,
His real, pure and inner name.
He’s a voice with many sounds,
Like wind, like storm, like autumn rain;
But you can never, ever know,
The way he tells me fairy-tales.
He comes to me at every night;
When forest’s blue and moon shines bright,
When grass is black
And lake’s dark;
When wolves start howling
At their dear star.
I’m asleep and he’s right there
Next to bed, on writing chair
He’s there, looking down at me,
While whispering his story.
He tells me how the earth was born,
How mother-nature lulled to dwarves,
How high grey fairies could fly
And how much they loved the sky.
He tells me how tall the dragons are
And what color their tales are,
He tells that the oceans can speak
And then he says that his time’s up.
I feel like he’s my inner voice,
Which fills me up with cheer and joy,
His eyes are old and hands are warm,
I like to call him “the man I love”.
I think I saw him for several times
But they seem like dreams
My real world lays at a place
Where I sleep and he tells fairy-tales..