if it is my pain that angers you
(like the fact that I can't let go of people,
can't forget the faces of those who left me behind)
or my weaknesses that rob you of your pride
(like, for example, that I talk with the homeless
or spend all my salary on striped socks and gloves)
then I can tell you only this;
I will hold on to your pictures for long after you will leave
and every song will remind me of you,
but I don't think you'd mind that;
I will wander the streets searching for your face
and if perhaps a beggar asks me what's wrong,
I will cry on a friend's shoulder, knowing
he will not ask me why, but neither
will he beg for money, only comfort me,
as will I comfort myself with rainbow socks
so that they may shove the pain away.
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