He: I love you despite the rugged path between us, and I know that the curtains of your love have cast shadows upon my heart. I realize that my strings lie slain at the thresholds of your eyes, declaring that no heart beats except at the flutter of your eyelids—oh, the pang of my sighs.

Her: Your path to me is red, as red as my blood—the blood of my hands that have severed their veins with the swords of thorns. My fingers have spent a lifetime uprooting them, transforming your road into a lush, blooming trail. How could you cast me aside at the edge of this path?

- Is it pleasing to you to torture me after I have already tortured myself? I am mere fragments of a man, remnants of a soul, bits of senses consumed by guilt and swallowed whole. I am but a trace of a human; do not blame me.

- Oh, slayer of hope, how can I ask my soul not to reproach you when I am torn apart by longing? In the code of my dignity, there is no remedy for my yearning for you—my affliction, the pain of my years.

- Reproach me, don’t blame me; kill me with your love. Show me no mercy, be my curse. Scream and pour the fire of your vengeance into my essence. Rebel, strike me, but do not question me; I am merely remnants—do not ask me.

- Your wound lives in me, stealing my heart; your love is my enemy. My sword is drawn from its sheath, decisive and firm. My silence is my weapon. In the court of my defiance, I will not ask you, nor will I scream. I will drown your remnants in my silence until you are engulfed by the thunderous echo of your guilt, which will ultimately consume you, just as desire ends me with every moment.

- Let fate bear witness that I am his sin and that you are my sin. Let love testify that I acknowledge there is no love after you. So let the ships invade time, sailing forth, for either I will anchor on the shores of your chest alive, or I will drown in the depths of the sea, with the sands of sorrow covering me.