I am an honest, emotional, sensitive, polite, hopeless romantic, a person of culture. I know how to love, I know how to respect, I know how to give whole myself in everything I do. But I am no good so good at this world full of bad things and bad people. All the people who know me well, they say that I'm not the man for this time, I was too good, much too honest, too sincere, that I was sent by God's hand and led me to do only good deeds and to think only good to all people. I'm such a so far, and I will be until the end of this life, and I'm breathing. I have often suffered for love, but no better hope than that which emerged from sorrow, and no more beautiful dream beyond what the pain is born. My parents taught me to respect the elderly. They taught me to be a good person, to help others. And I am grateful to them for that. I don't like lies and scams. I am always honest and well-meaning.

You don't know, and you probably never will, how many times I would sell myself for a night with you.
Maybe only, sometimes, in your wildest dreams, you sense that there is someone who elevates you to the very heavens, who compares you to the brightest stars, for whom you are the very beginning of life, who wants to be yours.
You don't know, maybe you don't want to know, that it's not my day if I can't see the contours of your face in the clouds, if the sun warms me in the way I think would be yours, if my heart doesn't tremble at least once a day name.
I would like you to know how much warmth there is in my humble hands, to hide you in myself.
You don't know, and I would like you to know how much I want all your dreams to become my holy thought, for which I gladly spend my days, to know why I was born and why I exist.
You be me, even though the whole world will say, see him, what he won't do, do it for the woman.
And I don't care, because I'm doing it for you.