Ninguna

This door opened for your step.
This piano trembled with your song.
This table, this mirror, and these paintings
keep echoes of the echo of your voice.
It's so sad to live among memories...
It's so tiring to hear that rumor
of the subtle rain crying the time
over what the heart desired.

There will be none like it, there will be none,
none with your skin or your voice.
Your skin, magnolia that the moon wet.
Your voice, murmur that warmed love.
There will be none like it, all died
at the moment you said goodbye.

When I want to move away from the past,
it's useless... my heart tells me.
That piano, that table, and those paintings
keep echoes of the echo of your voice.
In a blue album are the verses
that your absence covered with loneliness.
It's the sad ash of memory
nothing but ash, nothing more...