Do I keep track of time
by count of days
or the changing seasons,
the ticking of the clocks,
by the intensity of the void that approaches,
or by the number of steps left
before you reach me?
From the icy cold stares to
the last dew drops,
from the first blossoming smile
to the last leaf that leaves its abode,
haven’t you left a trace of you
in every secret I keep locked up inside my heart?