Nothing ever lasts, it always ends the same,
Here's a box filled with repressed memories for you to claim.
Inside contains the moment when our paths crossed and met,
What was once clear, is now distorted by naïveté.
I left the box to linger in the fire,
I stayed and watched as your ashes grew louder and higher.
I hear the soft muffled cries of regret start to burn,
I act quickly upon the quandary but only depression returned.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem