Why do you keep coming back, always, continuously, stubbornly; your face, your smile, your hands, the smell of that summer, and of the following summer. Why are you still haunting me - it's not even you, I know, it's only some vision of you - cause you’re not there anymore, you’re not even you anymore. And I'm not me anymore either, not that me that you once knew.
And yet, in my mind, you’re still there and I’m still there, only wiser. And all that is happening again. What wouldn’t I do now to make it real, what would I do?
Your face on that photo, your voice in my dream, and I’m yet again finding myself in an empty space, with eyes empty and heart empty, yet aching.
This is silly, she would say, it’s only a sign how emotionally immature she is, that girl from Paris at sunset, who never felt anything like that ever again since he was gone. This is me, emotionally immature, never been able to feel anything like that ever since you were gone.
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