I love the empty spaces hanging like hangers without clothes in the closet,
They talk to me with different faces and I know with every breath,
That somewhere the soul longs for you, it longs for all your imperfections,
And all your second-rate habits that were spurned, because now I know,
With all my tailor-made perfections, that nobody is perfect on earth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem