Pouya (pouyal)

I spoke to you in cautious tones, you answered me with no pretense. And still, I feel I said too much, my silence is my self-defense. And every time I've held a rose, it seems I only felt the thorns. And so it goes, and so it goes, and so will you soon I suppose. But if my silence made you leave, then that would be my worst mistake, so I will share this room with you, and you can have this heart to break.