We are the echo of the future.
Now all my teachers are dead except silence.
You grieve Not that heaven does not exist but That it exists without us
On the last day of the world I would want to plant a tree
Of course there is nothing the matter with the stars It is my emptiness among them While they drift farther away in the invisible morning
Separation Your absence has gone through me Like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color.