My time is bad,
so I'm silent.
Let the time come.
I will tell who I am.
No time can burn what we became,
but it can whisper through your name.
I see a ghost in quiet rooms,
reflected in the shade of June.
Every echo,
every sigh,
still painted gold before it dies.
I try to wash you from my skin,
but warmth like yours seeps deep within.
