How much I have missed you, dear friend.
The mountains are still there,
yet all the fortunes in this world
are not enough
to exchange a glimpse of your smile
(then what is the use of them?)
Yet you are with me, I know,
and I can hear you whisper:
Live this life
and we shall meet again.
P.S. my roommate T.F. died young. I used to send her my writing. I hope she wouldn't mind this bad poem.
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