I am dying within this body, and
it is only made worse by my terrible
indecision. I had never felt love
until that warm month of March, and now I
find myself with love for three.

First. You, my love, my starving, lonely love.
I love you, I miss you, I need you, yet
I cannot give myself to you because
you love me too. You love me more than I
thought was possible and, for fear of breaking
your sorry heart and cracking your icy
eyes into rivers, I cannot tell you.

Second. You, my love, my resonant, blazing
love. I love you, I hear you, I see you,
yet all you see is her, so I am not
allowed to. Your song ignites when she is there
and nobody exists or matters other
than her. Your graceful dancing is enough
to make me keep my silence, so  I cannot tell you.

Third. You, my love, my fleeting, dying love.
I love you, I know you, I want you. I
am counting down the days to tell you. Every
second, every moment, every hour of
every day is spent waiting until I
can tell you. You are everything to me,
setting me on fire and embellishing
me with your warmth. But now I remember.
I have a love for three, those three sections
of my own world which I know so strongly.
Therefore, I cannot give myself completely
to one walk of life, and I cannot tell you.