how can we forgive ourselves for all the things we didn't do?
we lived with artificial feelings for so many untouched mornings,
without knowing who we are,
we used the word "I" many times, describing ourselves in many ways
all deceptive, half-truths

we are like a wax spilled on a half-burned candle,
a candle that really wanted to burn, but died out before it was born,
muted white flames fluttering have confessed silent desires,

if we could start over and remove the wax, dig deep, maybe we could light the quenching soul to find out its secrets

there is no empty soul only emptiness in the soul
unseen things are hidden there in the dense depths, forgotten, breathing more and more rarely,
they are butterflies of powders of hope which want to fly only once

how can we forgive ourselves for all the things we didn't do?