You love me, yes, that much is true, but do you really know me? Before loving, knowing is essential.
When thick fog surrounds us everywhere, do you search for me desperately then? How do you search for me? Like me? Or like yourself?
As much as you want me, how much have you learned to give me peace? Where love doesn't exist, if peace still remains there, you'll find me in that very place!
You think of me as your lover, yet all my life I've wanted to find a friend. That love only brings suffering which holds no intimate friendship.
The room you enter, think each day— have you truly entered that room today? A room should be easy breathing, so why does your arrival leave me breathless?
Each time you sit asking for me from myself, each time I keep wondering, if I remain here with myself, then what need is there for that love which doesn't make me yours?
When your love strikes, I feel like sleeping. Is this love? Or sleeping pills?
When you feel romantic, I feel afraid. Is this love? Or ghost stories?