Some say love is a blooming flower.
Others compare it to a full moon.
Perhaps they are both right.
But when I look at her,
I find myself believing in gods,
believing in miracles.
When she draws near,
my silent heart beats so fiercely
that I become aware of my own existence.
For a fleeting moment,
I feel alive.
Yet I always return to my former self—
the one who forgets that she exists.
Even when I stand among a crowd,
I feel every gaze upon me.
I hear the whispers clearly,
their words,
their desires,
their judgments.
And the sins I have carried
remain etched upon my soul,
beyond the reach of forgiveness.
