Finding logic in this disorder
requires knowing how to fly beyond the fantasies
of two impossible lovers,
accidental accomplices,
a wild garden where weeds are left to grow
and one walks barefoot
among thorns and unspoken desires,
two orbits that almost never meet,
but try to brush against each other,
reaching out a hand,
as if a single moment,
a distraction of time,
were enough for everything to be fulfilled,
for minds to recognize each other,
beyond words,
in the shared silence of a thought.
Logic, in love and in mind, doesn't exist.