I'm awake at 2.30 am. It's quiet off-course.
The silence is yearning to be pierced by any sharp sound.
I'm thinking what to compare the heart to.
The heart is a drum. You get the rhythm you desire.
It stays silent when untouched. No, the heart is a mirror.
You only get the reflection of yourself.
So I see the patterns of myself in you to your surprise
I could love so easily. But I feel it's the timing.
I run into the forest
and cut woods for you.
So you have no use for them.
But I note that
while cutting the woods.
So when winter
comes, you can think of me.