There will be doors for you,
in places I can never be.
They will ask you to travel,
I cannot be away at sea.
Your name spoken like love,
my existence lost to rumour.
Paths will cross, but only to be brief,
much like the halfway point between awake and sleep,
Half remembering yet half forgetting,
clinging on to what we want to believe.
You can keep your three syllables-
and I will keep my sanity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem