And maybe he doens't know the language I speak but he reads my eyes without any translations,
And like all the other folks I never tried again to preach my poems,
And less he knew about complications of words,
But he heard me even when I didn't call him but something I'm not sure about,
And oh he didn't drop me in the field of lavender, neither did he put daisy on my ear,
But I smelled like something I never ever did before,
And maybe you can't call this kinda love you read in books,
Cause this wasn't tragic even for once,
And maybe it's not something about which you write thousand more...