My mind fights the memories,
Threatening to seep into sight.
And before I can stop it,
The hand of nostalgia reaches forward –
Brushing the cheek of a moment,
long withered away.
How I long to be held by your strength
once again.
A feeling so warm,
like the tears streaking my face.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem