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. 


It's summer. 

So you have no use for them.


But I note that

while cutting the woods.


So when winter

comes, you can think of me.