Question

Though I grow weary loving you, loving you so,
when it comes to understanding my love,
why do you never tire, tell me?

Even if I do something that might mislead you,
or deliberately try to confuse you about something,
still you grasp the truth perfectly—how, I cannot fathom.

You shelter me in the soft warmth of your love, yet
how do you sense my mistakes before I even make them?
And right then, how do you become so unyielding?

Your whole life passed away in banks, in banks,
yet when I fall ill, you become a doctor instantly,
and when teaching me, you turn into a teacher too!

How do you understand every word of all my wordlessness?
How do you dive into the fathomless ocean of my eyes?
How do you read...even when you see me laughing...the pain in my heart?
Or how do you separate out the tears of joy?

Who are you?
The identity I know of you—that isn't you, surely you're someone else!
Where did you find me? How did you come so close?

Why must you love me this much?
I don't want so much, yet I see you simply cannot stop loving me well!
Must one really love this deeply?

What kind of love is this that has no explanation, that fits no definition, that cannot be bound by any formula, however cleverly contrived?
Why must you love so beautifully when no one in this world has found its trace yet?
How will they understand its depths?

You love me so much—
I thought, understanding the depths of this love, they would surely die of envy!
But I see, without grasping this love's depths at all, in their savagery and cruelty, how wildly they rage!