He is my sun on a cold day, my umbrella in the rain, my protection, my faith.
He is my mirror, he sees me, he reflects me.
He is my literature, my preferred book, my poem.
He knows how to read me, how to touch my soul, how to make me happy,
because he transforms sadness into joy, pain in healing, fair in bravery.
He is persistent, he is sensitive, he is present.
He is my gift on an ordinary day, my breeze on a hot one.
He is my lap on difficult moments, my rest at the end of the afternoon.
He is my warm bath when it’s very cold.
He is my angel, my sacred and my profane.
He saves me, he guides me, he understands me.
He thinks I'm beautiful, amazing, special, unique, sexy.
He says I'm smart, deep, interesting, creative, magnetic.
He compares me to a novel, to a miracle, to a witch.
He tells me that I'm not the average type of woman.
And I believe in him, I trust him.
For him, I'm full, I'm colorful.
His Brazilian shining star.
For him, I'm exciting, erotic, attractive.
His dreaming, his muse, his Venus.
Because of him and for him, I'm a better person.
Because of him, I exist.
For him, Im here.
Because of him, I survive.
For him, I give all my love.
For him and because of him, Im love.
