My Love

If it were not true,
I would not think of you all day long;
I would not ache to see you,
There would be no reason to write these poems, these songs.

If it was not felt,
I would not have a spring in my step;
I would not have felt the iciness melt,
Nor the places in my heart that you have crept.

If it was not real,
I would not have stopped being blue;
I would not have learned again, how to feel,
There never would have been the uttering: I love you.