A trace of light,
behind the curtain window.
An existence of life
under the willow.
The smell you left
on the yellow pillow.
It maim me deep,
even it's shallow.

They call me naive,
And hollow.
Please call me, Naive-
I am in sorrow.
Right here where you left me,
got nothing to follow.

Still under the willow,
laying beside your pillow.