Between Here and You

How many springs have passed?

How many miles

has the river travelled?

And how much farther must I go

before I meet you?

This endless night,

this endless breath,

thinking of you.

This melancholy afternoon,

these empty eyes,

filled only with your silence.

That empty cup of tea,

those pages of a lost story,

everything feels empty

only because your touch

is no longer there.

The patterns drawn

by dew upon the misted glass,

or

the little happiness

suddenly gathered

from the wandering wind,

everything was you,

because you were there beside me.

Will we ever meet again?

Will time

leave a road for us?

How much farther

must I go

before I meet you?

How much of the road

is still left?