You created a firework out of a hopeless and damp paper box. 

You added your gunpowder words little by little, 

Drying me with caressing thoughts and 

Brining the sun, warm weather. 

Taking over my whole imagination. 

You created me into a blast of something that become more than me,

For longer than it should have been. 

You held the matches in your hands, 

Struck the box and,

right after you lit my fuse 

With YOUR imagination and YOUR confessing thoughts, 

You turned around and you walked away,

Leaving my beautiful and colorful illuminating pops and sparks, 

Unnoticed by the only person I wanted to impress them with.

If a firework is beautiful but no one is arond to see it be beautiful, 

Was it ever really beautiful? 

yes.