The ash in your breast pocket

: If I could hold the person closest to me and weep, it would feel like such relief!
: Tell me, what do you mean by someone close?
: The one I love—what harm is there in thinking of them as my own?
: Ha ha... Oh fool, in this faded world no one truly belongs to anyone.
: And you speak of love? To someone whose memories lie burned in love's curse, does your love hold any meaning at all?
It's possible they never loved you back. Why burden yourself with false hopes—I don't understand!

: But I do love! Perhaps that's why the fear of loss grows, becoming pain from time to time!
: You love? But have you accepted that love given doesn't always return love received?
: I believe somewhere in their heart, my touch remains. It feels good to think this. I've lived mostly on this thought alone.
: Then why do you want to forget yourself today?
: Because inside me there isn't just me—they live in every corner of my room. My heart is so cluttered, how much longer can I hold onto this? I no longer have the strength.
: Perhaps it's time to take leave.

Truthfully, living without their feeling is an impossible torment. You know, to love requires only pain and emotion!
All this time, the moments spent in their feeling have kept me alive in solitude. Isn't that enough?
I am utterly insignificant, and these days even holding onto wrong imaginings frightens me, seems so misplaced.
I know when I'm gone, they will never search for me. Still—

: Still?
Still, if someday by mistake they remember me—call me back in familiar remorse. I promise I'll never forget to look back.
: I've never seen you in such pain before!
: How could you see? I've never loved anyone this much before! Without pain, how could I understand love's intensity?
This very pain will perhaps teach me to love myself a little more—I'll live within this conflict.
I have no complaints, no resentment toward them. Rather, I'm most grateful to that person in all this world.
I have no right to bring them back, never did. I'm not worthy of their love—not at all.
Tell them, in all my tears lies hidden the mockery of their indifference.

: May your sudden death at least touch them once. May they be able to find you a thousand times over.
Thereafter...
From the burned ashes of your feeling will remain, in the permanent nest of their breast pocket—for which you wept that final time.