The soul remembers what time forgets.
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Plants stay silent, holding the voice of the seasons.
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Some stories end in alleys before they begin.
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I hit the Pause Board and slowly passed your world.
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If meet again, how to respond? With silence. With life
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Silence, too, speaks its own tale.
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Walking alone, I return to myself.
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If life has to crack, let a flower bloom here.
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Fragments of the everyday are another shape of poetry.
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Will firm to be me, no place for modesty
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Through all that changes, my heart remains its own.
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