February If you don’t come in February, I’ll have to tell you a couple of things: That I don’t forget you, That I never did, That I didn’t even try, That life is sadder If you don’t come to lighten up my life, That every part of my body hurts Since you have left me. That I miss you, That, surprisingly, I’m still alive and I don’t cry for you, That music doesn’t sound the same But Spinetta makes me feel good. (I don’t think you hate him already). That I don’t believe you at all When you say you don’t love me. That I don’t understand How you could stop doing it. That reading your name is bittersweet And books sheets are empty pages That don’t make anybody feel better. That your favourite shirt is stained And I apologise for not taking care of it. That I set fire to you so many times, But I always rescued your ashes So That I could sleep with them. That letting someone freeze to die in summer Is worse than letting them with flowers of spring in their hands. That July is wise, But doesn’t shelter me anymore. That there are a million whys And this could last an hour of lines. That I miss you every day That life is long, man, And I’m running out of time. That we lost more than what we won And wasting minutes was Your worst betrayal towards me. That I forgive you for everything, Just like the song says, For coming and leaving. That I could never leave your memories behind. That thank you for everything. That I love you so much, More than I could ever admit. That I will always write about you, That I would repeat it all again, Even the mistakes. I wish you the best, love. Don’t cry. Goodbyes sometimes, Very few times, Are better Than rapprochement, and we certainly know it very well.