I can sense your approach
but looking at you would be too painful.
Your eyes, your nose, your hands, your clothes;
never do I see them with a clear eye.
And I do not love you.

Your voice, your laugh, your talk;
I do not wish to hear it
but I always do, time and time again.
I cannot escape you, no matter how much I try.
But I cannot love you.

The things you say, the things you do,
what you like, what you hate,
your friends, your enemies.
I know them all, through and through.
But I must not love you.

A barrier, a fog, a wall,
they block me from you.
Once I talked to you with ease,
now the idea fills my head with sorrow.
So I may love you.

And I know, too, that this
will prevent you from knowing me.
You do not care about my looks or laugh.
You will not talk to me at all.
You shall not love me.