When you lose someone it's hard to tell yourself that everything will be okay,
You have no way of knowing when you are going to die,
They just stop breathing,
They can't pack their belongings up but over time you will find the courage to do it,
It's weird when you walk into their house and they don't answer you back,
You go in their office and look around,
Millions of boxes are empty but they will be full,
You don't know where to go,
It's depends how well you know the person,
My grandfather had a book reader,
He passed his love of reading to me,
I don't feel like touching it but I don't want it to collect dust,
But it is the way that he is still alive in me,
He wouldn't want me to give up.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem