Based on Kurosawa (Jr.)
On the bed that is empty without your physical features,
over time, a transparent blanket of dust settles,
carefully drawing the outline of your body,
that grew into the bed for the sake of old days.
Give it another year and it will look like a standard crime scene,
where the body of the victim on the ground is circled with chalk,
only nominative cases remain between us
and this terrible bed as a witness of our beauty.
As in Kurosawa's Pulse, you grew into the flatness of the walls,
and we didn't see each other again, but a strange feeling remained,
that you did not leave me throughout my life,
and your shadow still exists somewhere in this apartment.
I hardly believe in God, but I believe in mysticism,
and we both know love is the latter
so my image now grows next to yours
for these walls to immortalise the union of our Charisma.
