"My little death" - writing, my original poem translated from Hebrew.

Every night.
Every time she tells me she does not want, it's hard for her to write what she feels
She does not know who I am or maybe she does not know how to write to me, I should tell her.

When I get up sweating in the middle of the night and look at the fan on the ceiling and do not understand the ways of the universe, I see her by my side but she is not here

it's just another little death

Every time she looks at the sunrise and me look at her, waiting to burst into tears and tell her the things on my heart

When I talk to her and ask her to think about it, she looks at the sunrise and does not hear simple words
Maybe I should write to her, maybe she can read

And how hard I tried to get there, to the green hill above the quiet water and tried to shout the things that must not be said to her reflection on the water

it seemed to me that she was thinking only of me, I wish I could tell her.
But there are things that must not be told.

The last time she smiled at the sea she looked as if she remembered me.
She would look happy, as I was, as we were.

I tried to touch her
But she is not here
She's my little death she's in my dreams.

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