If you forget me,
or do so much that all our feelings
will fade from memory,
I want you to know one thing:
I may have forgotten you, too.
But the habits I developed,
the way I communicate,
and all the mistakes we learned
in every unhappy moment we had,
would always echo through my actions
as if I've never forgotten about you at all.
People can be cut off,
like flowers from a rose bush.
Feelings fade away,
much like writing with very little ink.
But habits, they last.
I can never make myself remember you,
but my actions do anyway.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem