This is not a poem

There was a time when comfort overwhelmed me. You also existed in my life, acting as a natural unblocker of bad luck, although it will always be with you.
Coinciding with the fire that you are, with the fire that your memory represents, had to be the masterpiece of the writer of my destiny.
And no one taught me such a real facet of the self and nobody ever lied with such a heart, making me understand that the world is fateful, but that fatality is beautiful, it's human.
I was never to let myself be carried away by what I knew was ephemeral, but every time you looked at me passionately defending your opinions, my world became saturated and everything I knew suddenly had another meaning. Suddenly I understood that we all look for someone to give us peace, we want a shoulder to rest, but you ... You were chaos, and I became addicted to him.
Because we knew to see beyond the body where our souls rest and we gave ourselves the opportunity to imagine their form. Because missing you is unfair but having you is more, I prefer to drown the sadness between nonsense occupations while I imagine burning everything in your path, shaking other worlds and creating universes as only you know how to do it: slow gravitating among commons that will not value as they should your wonderful exist.