No one told me to travel a thousand miles to write a beautiful poem,

Nowhere did anyone write that poetry can be created with a calm mind,

No one wished for me to blow a life jacket’s whistle while drowning in the sea of painful memories,

No one asked how scarred one must be to call this heart a ruin,

Perhaps it wasn’t necessary to break one’s heart to write a beautiful poem,

Nor was there a lazy urge to fall in love anew,

Or the stubbornness to embrace or the regret of not meeting for the last time,

Perhaps it wasn’t necessary,

If only we could go back to the old town; get soaked in the old field after class,

If only our hearts and the covering of memories could become innocent again,

Then, perhaps, a beautiful poem could be written once more.