Angels (纖維)

The room is neatly laid out, but it feels unfamiliar.

Past events gather like short threads, falling into the light in front of the window.

I can accept that the feelings have shattered into rain.

I can accept that your disconnection carries meaning.

I can, but I still lack the courage.

Is there enough memory to weave into a quilt?

Like your arm warm against my back.

I can only piece together fragments of you.

I promised you I would review the happiness process.

Including you leaving first, including our farewell.

I might still miss you in the linen-colored shirt.

Perhaps I still miss our overly intimate embraces.

Perhaps too careful, oh.

Is there enough memory to weave into a quilt?

Like your arm warm against my back.

I can only piece together fragments of you.

At that time, we didn't understand how to be a little closer.

It doesn't necessarily converge into promises.

Trying too hard resulted in twisting into a breaking point, no longer connected.

At that time, we didn't understand how to separate a little.

It doesn't necessarily linger on the edge.

Now we can only obtain faint connections from scraps of paper.

We are like fibers drifting in the wind.

We can only avoid each other from a distance.