The skinny arms that once were strong hang out of your sleves,
The white polo shirt is like an XL shirt on a child.
You are weak, sad, but you are alive and that is what matters most.
The day is normal and you, as always, have a mob around you.
I am not in it,
I watch from a distance.
This is not different for me...
I miss your face,
Seeing you at school,
Everyday...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem