Glaring Dream

The whisper that dissolves into the bustling crowd
makes the memories scattered underfoot blur together.
 
The blazing of the street where I walk about lost (glaring one way)
illuminates me as coldly as though it freezes.
 
The cold times make dreams fall like rain and slip through my hands.
When I woke up from the countless wishes, you are reflected in a shimmering 
illusion --
the silhouette whose faint smile leads me along.
 
Even if the gentleness that tells about only what makes anxiety flow
had fulfilled eternity, I still don't want tomorrow.
 
The words that I have to give to you are (it's talk to myself)
falling into an everyday routine, even without shadows.
 
With a trembling finger, I gather up the dreams; without even breathing 
on them, they're crumbling.
Even the certain things are too unreliable; if I believe in something, can 
I be with you again?
It's whitely vanishing, the silhouette of that day.
 
Looking up at that palely-dyed season (Life Winter Dream)
I, who stopped to stand still, am swept away.
 
The wind blows it out, makes it be left behind; even the yearning is growing 
numb from the cold in my heart.
 
The cold times drift about in dreams, but are caught and held in your hands.
When I woke up from the countless wishes, you are reflected in a shimmering 
illusion --
the silhouette whose faint smile leads me along