It’s the question of one’s heart
that no immortal can ever answer
for he knows not how to die
for he never grows old
or learns to lose, not others but himself
inch by inch, part by part, little by little
everything that was once him, but never
will be again
No love may exist without death
such is the possibility we are born with.
Like golden apples in a faraway orchard,
you see love and death only once.