When the volume subsides and the last word is silence,
I still believe in love.
When the pressure in my head subsides and my breathing shallows,
what else remains?
When the fluid that races through my broken heart reduces its frantic beat,
I still believe there is more than blood.
When the sweat of rage on a knotted nape turns cold and dank in a lonely bed,
I still believe the skin will warm and tears will dry.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem