As a simple man in his late 20s,
I got married to a simple woman in her early 20s.
She's a woman I see every single day,
Who shares the room and cupboard with me,
Makes the breakfast and hurries to work as she says, "Allah Hafiz".

She returns home the same time as me,
We arrange our shoes side by side.
She heats the dinner from fridge,
I wash up and help her set the table and eat together afterwards.

Everyday is nothing special,
At least not anymore.
Am I perhaps taking it for granted?
No, maybe I'm too used to it.
The times we laugh together,
It's no more as special as it was.
No
How could it not be special?
We simply don't celebrate it.
The times we fight, we hurt,
And when the fault is ours,
But not the "sorry".
Many of those moments forgotten,
But
None of them insignificant.

The life of this simple man,
You brought a thousand colors to,
Seemed dim and dull,
Just as the spectra in white.
How many "sorry" do you want from this idiotic man who failed to notice that?
Now that you have closed your eyes,
Your brown iris eyes,
Ones I would not see again except in the unreal image of you I see in my everyday life that is filled with unending fragments of you.