The Wrong Woman at the Right Time

She was the wrong woman at the right time with the right words,
and I was a man who only has a straight line in his heart,
as a result of all the previous sufferings
and a monument to buried dreams and betrayed loves.

Frivolous, stubborn, illiterate, irritating,
above all irresistible,
she began to bring out the best in me:
the smile showed itself to the world again,
the eyes shone as if they were the closest relatives of the Sun,
the straight line in the heart gained a rhythm,
and dreams resurrect faster than the mythological Phoenix.

Everything was going so fast that I was scared,
and she was telling me that I should let myself go,
to enjoy the moment and what we have and create.
I couldn't disobey her,
it was too nice to complain.

And when I completely let myself go...

"I have no excuse. I'm ashamed of you.
I can't tell you the reason,
but still, I'm not good for you.
Maybe it's better to do it now than later.
I'm sorry, I really am.
If you can somehow forgive."

The most hackneyed phrase and the most exploited,
that could be found in every movie and every book,
that earned the nickname "romantic".
Well, couldn't she herself then become better,
rather than both of us becoming vulnerable and worse?

Everything was supposed to be a joke to her,
but, well, it got out of control.
There were few lies and even less truth.
What is what, I guess she can figure it out herself,
I couldn't at all, I was executed.

I'm so used to "us",
even though we never existed,
that every day in "our time"
I had to look at the clock and think of her...