I like for you to be still， it is as though you were absent,
and you hear me from far away， and my voice does not touch you.
It seems as though your eyes had flown away
and it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth.
As all things are filled with my soul
you emerge from the things, filled my soul.
You are like my soul, a butterfly of dream,
and you are like the word Melancholy.
I like for you to be still， and you seem far away.
It sounds as though you were lamenting, a butterfly cooinglike a dove.
And you hear me from far away and my voice does not rouch you:
Let me come to be still in your silence.
And let me talk to you with your silence
that is brightas a lamp,simple as a ring.
You are like the night, with it's stillness and constellations.
Your silence is that of a star, as remore and candid.
I like for you to be still, it is as though you were absent,
distant anf fullof sorrow as though you had died.
One word then,one smile,is enough.
And I am happy, happy that it's not true.
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