I have dreamed of you so much you cease to exist.
Where your hand is the phantom of the wind,
encased in night.
I have dreamed of you so much that sleep and reality are one.
Where I cannot tell if my writing is scratched on paper
or on the deep recesses of my soul.
And so I will dream of you, still
in my heart of hearts I dream.
So you will cease to be a phantom and become real.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem