A Journal of Self-Narration

These days I send you texts and still can't find you.
My messages sit in one corner of the outbox—yet they reach you! Only my place, where did it go and disappear, I don't even want to know anymore.

You've woken up from sleep, I know.
When did you wake, why didn't I feel it!
This very me who stayed awake all night—just thinking, the moment you wake I'll hold you close.
I'll say—"A little more, just bear with me a little more."
But nothing happened.
All feeling seemed to stop somewhere.
I'm so angry with myself now.

Today I suddenly noticed—you're offering me tea and coffee absent-mindedly, then making it yourself.
I looked at you several times, understood—you don't really want to see me.
Tell me, if you could touch the person inside me, could you stop their crying?

There's a strange, invisible magic in you—
that still compels me to love you without telling you.

I want to tell you so many things—love, hurt, resentment...
But when you sit there scolding, no words come to my mouth anymore.
I feel hurt by you, and utterly helpless about myself.

I've known you only a short time, so your habits are still unknown to me.
Yet it seems you're annoyed with me, tired.

Why are you so antisocial?
Why must I ask so many times to get an answer to one question?
Have you really become someone who sees people like us without seeing?

Are you really like this?
In messages you say "yes" to everything, but face to face you give time, then say "no."
You could have not come—this meeting wasn't urgent.
Though I was waiting.

So much time has passed.
What are you doing now?
Has your anger lessened?

When leaving you said, "I love you"—remember?
The destination I was supposed to reach, I had no strength left to get there.
So I changed course and set off—toward the people close to me.

Today I feel so unburdened.
I can't explain it, but I love you.
Yet the only way to love—is to keep these feelings alive.
That's what I'm doing.
Will keep doing.

You stay well in your own way.

Even without you, love remains,
silently, secretly—living in the depths of hurt.
Your path and mine don't meet, true,
yet your shadow accompanies every memory I keep.

I love you—saying this isn't the final word,
even if you don't hear, this feeling doesn't stop.
I just quietly preserve a melody,
whose name is love—bound with your name.

You stay in your own way
I'll stay anyway...
unknown to you, loving you.