If the sudden glimpse in the crowd is just an accident
Then the pain that lingers in the gap of missing you must be the footprints after the dance of love
If the lingering memory in the wash of time is a kind of love
Then the moment of separation from the squeeze of the gears of the years must be another miracle.
Those
written in
We are old but still carry our childishness
In the time when I was young but experienced vicissitudes of life
words in the name of love
In the curved folds of our finger joints
getting blurry
But it's becoming clearer and clearer