I like to lay in the bed that smells of us
where I'm losing my sadness in idle days
when spring means nothing,
when the walk in the endless garden is no longer a purpose,
cherry blossoms distract my empty eyes,
instead of sketching a smile my eyes hit the ground
the green grass screams at me and wants to chase away the gray,
then I talk to heaven,
I look for the sun that seems hidden for an eternity,
the singing of the birds, a tortuous composition is bothering me now,
but sadness has its beauty
I feel it in a subtle silence
and I search where there is nothing left, for healing...