I touch the glass of the window, feeling the warm of the light.
You grab my hand then away from our house.
When I hold your hand,
I can feel the same temperature as the glass of the window.
You always say that it’s the time to go the beach.
We walk on the golden sand with the wavy appearance.
Why are you wavy and dry, my dear sand?
Does the sea, your lover, take something away from you?
You keep silent.
Yet, the wind whispers something in my ears.
The wind says that
You are scooping yourself out when you cry for the sea’s leaving.
To dry your tear makes you live with a wavy heart.
Love I say
It’s worthwhile for your waiting.
Be patient.
You should go with the wind that
It brings you to see something different.
You will be full of love when the sea turns back again.
The sea will brush the gap of your wavy heart.
Ah, “love,” I say.