I am still sleeping in my gazebo
and hear film soundtracks
when I remember you walking pass my bus
but never boarding.
You'll never intentionally
sit across from me
and watch my hands again.
I would try to remember your smell
but I never knew it;
I think I never will.
Though I remember your pace
and it sounds like my heart
when I'm not thinking of you.
I know you never walk fast enough
to sound like my heart
when I am thinking of you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem