What I miss

If I say
   I like you
   it is the truth.

If I say
    I think of you
    it is the truth

If I say
    you are important to me
    it is the truth

If I say
    I can´t forget you
    it is the truth

because I love you
because you are near- in my toughts,
eventhough you live in a far away country.

What I miss ?-
I´m missing-   your first look that caused my goose- pimples.
I´m missing-   your little dimple
(- which could be seen after a kiss ).

I´m missing-   your nearness that turned the world in me round and round.
I´m missing-   your voice and it´s lovely sound
(- eventhough at first I  understood just every third word ).
I´m missing-  your smile that made my soul fly like a bird.
I´m missing-  your saying: “It isn´t fair.“
I´m missing-  your fruitless attempt to smell your hair
(- but it was too short ).
I´m missing-  your drawn- together eyebrows when my fingers you caught.

I´m missing-  you
(- since you went
back to Stoke- on- Trent ).
Please, believe me, it´s true.

Actually, you don´t deserve it
-I should be annoyed a little bit-
and it isn´t your birthday yet
but nevertheless I have something for you to get:
Today I give you my dreams as a present.

Dreams, they shiver in all colours because they combine
the blue from the heaven and the red from the wine,
the yellow from the sun and the black from the coal.
Dreams, they are devised by the soul
and they germinate from the heart.

Dreams, their essence is composed by the softness of the night,
with a spark of desire and a sunbeam of delight,
with a tune of joy and a sigh of melancholy,
with a tear of grief and a bloth of fantasy,
with a breese of yearning and a very great dash of hope.

A dream of a birch- tree early in the spring,
a flourishing tree with birds that sing.
A dream of a new day with it´s warm light
that melts away the hoar- frost and dissolve the foggy night.
A dream of dew- drops upon red roses.

A dream that this lonely period will pass by
and that one day I find myself again looking into your eyes.
A dream that does not know any distances and develops itself free.
These are my dreams and can´t you see
they drifting loke iridescing soap- bubbles above the clouds to you.

You may say
that I´m only stealing your time away,
that I´m nothing but a dreamer- and not much more...

Perhaps