the cold sea wind cuts through my flesh, making the blood in my heart cold. i watch the pale moon, the birds sleeping on the waves, three ships sinking into the darkness, and two ships leaving a gloomy light in place of their appearance. the last cigarette smolders in my hand, leaving behind ash and a slight feeling of calm that merges with dizziness and a slight trembling of my hands. while my head is not empty, looking at the sea and the stars reflected on the waves, i reflect on my feelings. if love is lechery and intimacy in every word, touch, and thought, then i have never loved in my life and felt this feeling inside my chest. everything i felt before is an empty feeling that has no name, meaning, or words that resonate with it; all my touches and kisses are just an insignificant imitation of lust. all the words that described my feelings and came out of my chest are just ashes in the memories of others, the same ashes that remain on the cold sand from a cigarette. the realization that i never touched love with my own hand, although it always seemed like i was drowning in it, like in the sea, as if merging into one, disappearing into the void. the cold wind carries the ashes of my cigarette into the darkness, and in silence i leave the shore.