The sentiment I was hoping for,
The dryness that seared my throat,
And even the ashtray I couldn’t find,
The one that changed was me.
The memories, flickering like the flames
I lit with nostalgia,
I exhaled them before they could fill my lungs,
What I saw from the train window was the passing days.
There’s no great joy or despair,
Just because I’m living, I’m alive,
That’s why I think so.
The oil lighter you chose,
A small Zippo of jet-black cat,
When it made a nice sound,
You squinted and smiled a little reluctantly, didn’t you?
On the pure white wallpaper,
As if to dirty it a bit,
In today’s blur.
I opened my mouth and accepted
The me among the masses,
You scolded the coward,
This much won’t change,
I’m sure.
I’m tired of the ordinary days,
But those words,
Are just necessary stage props for the author’s convenience.
In this small world,
Where there’s no great joy or despair,
I’m still alive, so I’m alive,
Because I think so.
The oil lighter you chose,
A small Zippo of jet-black cat,
Staring at the beautiful tail as it flickers,
Now I’m choking halfway,
On the pure white wallpaper,
As if to dirty it a bit.