I am still looking for you
in the crowds, from a distance.
though to you
I suspect I am precisely nothing.
I wonder which of us will break first?
Me? when I am convinced, after all,
that it was meaningless,
or you? Knocking one night
and finally hearing the empty space
I left behind.
I do not think it will be me.
My heart is a stubborn, jealous thing,
and I have a habit
of keeping open my injuries.
I hope, and do not hope
that it will be you.