Days

Time passes, because that is the only thing it knows how to do. I remember the way I loved you, and the way you smiled. And I remember walking and sitting and sometimes I feel that the stones in the city have more memories of you than me. And you know I dream of you at night, and I wake up rattled and scared, because in the dream everything was as it should be, and you were there, walking and laughing and speaking to me. I remember and I forget, and you're always there except for when you aren't. I want to move past the need to search for you everywhere, because all I find is memories and ghosts. Ghosts of Greenhours and Piata Amzei, and of the streets around the Mall, ghosts of the sea and the mountains, of forests in the morning and I can't find myself in you, because you aren't here anymore. The only place I can find you in isn't like you. It's cold and sad and lonely - only bugs, and the lake, and unrelenting sun, and your grave. But I know you aren't cold when it rains, and that you're laughing at the first snow of the year, when I'm walking through the streets far away and willing a snowflake to prove that you're still thinking of me. Are you watching over all the people who knew you and who loved you so much, or are you really gone? I'll forever hate that blasted sea, and myself for failing you, and whenever I go into my room the first thing I see is the drawings, and I remember the bird on your wall, and the smell of your skin, and I think I'm kidding myself. I have no right to write this. I just hope I'll dream of you yet another night.