Time slipped past us
quicker than breath,
hours falling away
before we knew to hold them.
I keep replaying the small things—
your laugh, the warm hush
of simply sharing space—
bright sparks in a world too fast.
Our time was brief,
cut short before its season,
but I still carry its echo—
a soft reminder
of what we were
in the rushing dark.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem