Amethyst

What I am, what I have been,
of what they are, what they have been,
from the corner where they meet,
The loves I've had.
From my eyes that are still blind,
from my mouth that remains silent,
of my skin that little by little,
it is ceasing to be,
the luxury paper that enveloped me,
to fade in a closet.
From the apologies I asked for,
for things that I never did,
of the kisses that I have stolen,
to women I never wanted.
History repeats itself in stories,
and it becomes an urban legend,
of people like me,
they go through life without a name,
wearing on my chest,
an endless nostalgia,
that will stop for a moment,
when on any street,
at the time of forgetfulness,
another story will cross with me.