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When I walk at night, I walk alone.
The ice-breath of the wind is the only caress against my skin.
The lifeless whispers of the wind and the rustling of dead leaves
convey an empty melody to my ears
that reminds me of the void promises,
the faded horizons of my past years.
It reminds me of people who loved me,
whose love I ne'er fully returned - and now it's too late;
for their physical beings are gone, though their essences remain;
like perfumes sealed in separate bottles, and stored in my heart.

When I walk at night, I see soft lights in windows,
and I wish that my fellow-creatures would let me inside,
but the doors are always closed to me.
For want of a pair of sympathetic eyes,
sometimes, if I'm pensive, I fantasize
of someone who welcomes and embraces me,
and shows me to others with whom we shall pass the night.
We will talk and laugh and eat and love
until we fall asleep in each other's arms.
And when the dawn breaks, we will know
that the day is ours.