Some Justifications Before Love

 
I will never again write you anything
so elaborate and well-arranged. Whatever I write,
why do you give such perfunctory replies?
Don't you feel like talking with me?
Or don't you like what I write?


After writing you something, I can no longer
sit staring at my phone, waiting for an answer.
I've been running around all day, so tired. Going home, mother waits.
What time you sleep, I don't know.


Somehow I feel deeply
that writing you so late at night wouldn't be right.
Stay very well. Good night at two-thirty...


I won't write 'Good morning,' because this time
can't be called morning, and whether it's auspicious or not, I can't tell; though my morning began just a while ago.


Listen, do you distrust me? Give me an answer.
I myself love being simple and seeing others be simple.
From that wish, I need to tell you some simple things.


Once more I'm telling you about myself. Listen.
I know myself only as a human being.
There's nothing about me to believe or disbelieve,
belief itself is something invisible.
It's merely a matter of holding it in mind or not.
And if you must distrust, then there's nothing more to say about it.


I truly have nothing much to introduce myself with,
I'm probably just a little younger than you.
What would it matter if I were a little older?


I am someone who moves by her own meaning and on her own terms.
That's all! And yes, if we ever meet,
I have a small introduction, I'll give it to you that day.


You're probably thinking, everyone considers themselves human!
With so little introduction, one can't feel close to someone, can't address them as 'you.'
Whether to keep myself hidden or not, from whom to hide, from whom not to—
all this is my personal matter... I know you'd think such things.


You know what? Most likely
you don't really want to get properly acquainted with me.
You won't let me talk on the phone, even when I want to meet you forbid it.
Beyond this little messenger, how much can you really know me, tell me?


I have never wanted to know what my identity is, even to myself,
and never had to tell anyone what my identity is.
Or it could be that, willingly or unwillingly, it was never said to anyone.


Last night I thought for a long time, what introduction do I have
that I can give you? Suddenly, after so many years,
to tell someone my identity—it took time
to prepare myself for just this much. But now
it's not the time for you to know or me to tell.
I'm leaving for work, and you for the office too.
I'll return maybe in the evening. Stay well.