Quando o Amor Vacila

I know that behind this universe of appearances,
of all the differences,
hope is preserved.

In yesterday's dirty cups
each morning's coffee is served.
But there is a word I can't stand to hear,
and I can't accept it.

I believe in everything,
but I want you now.

I love you for your faults,
for your marked body,
for your scars,
for all your madness, my life.

I love your hands,
even though because of them
I don't know what to do with mine.

I love your sad game.

Your dirty clothes
are washed here at home.

I love your joy.

Even out of yourself,
I love you for your essence.
Even for what you could have been,
if the tide of circumstances
had not bathed you
in the waters of mistake.

I love you in hellish hours
and in a timeless life, when,
alone, I embroider another weekend towel.

I love you for the children and future wrinkles.

I love you for your lost illusions
and your useless dreams.

I love your system of life and death.

I love you for what repeats
and is never the same.

I love you for your entrances,
exits, and flags.

I love you from your feet
to what escapes you.

I love you from soul to soul.
And more than words,
even though it is through them
that I defend myself,
when I say I love you
more than the silence of difficult moments,
when love itself
falters.