I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite
sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still
eyes?
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've
lost her.
To hear the immense night, more immense
without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to
grass.
What does it matter that my love couldn't
keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with
me.
That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far
away.
My soul is lost without her.
As if to bring her near, my eyes search for
her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with
me.
The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.
I no longer love her, true, but how much I
loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.
Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As
she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love
her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.
Because on nights like this I held her in my
arms,
my soul is lost without her.
Although this may be the last pain she causes
me,
and this may be the last poem I write for
her."
