My Reciprocal Black Holes (마음)
Dear warm kind eyes,
The longing nostalgia yet factually foreign yearning both hugs yet tears me at the same time,
As reality is as lonely as uncertainty’s gravity, sucking me into an isolation, whose ending follows only after the epilogue of my death.

How can I let go, when I still hope for its fruition?
But this hope, o isolated seawall, am I talking to myself and simply hearing the echos of my heart?
Fear and directionless anger plague me — for the little girl who wishes to stay.

As I whisper, my narrative echos into a song,
One whose chorus and final verse can only be arranged upon reaching a threshold of composition and narration.
But how can I recognize the peaks whilst the story still continues?
Will this story ever end? Or has it yet to begin?