I was a fool, no doubt, to think
That'd you'd be what I hoped.
So long I've lived, my memories
Should've provided reports
On that kind of harmless beauty:
Underneath, a leaking soul.
I see what you wanted, truly,
But I'd rather chill alone.
For I desired none of that,
Content with your essence;
A daily hi, pat on the back,
So that we could pretend
That this life is more than sin,
More than what we want, lack,
But again, not to be remiss,
Where back did I meet you, then?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem