At first, it was your presence
– for all that you were so far away –
a presence of all that we shared
in the winds and in the rain
in the completeness I lived in every moment
without yearning or regret
in my very smiles, even.

And still: still I’m as content as can be
still I think of you when it rains
still I smile in a way I’d never known before.

But now, each day a bit stronger, it’s your absence
in my decontrentration
in all the things we never did
in how I remember you more often
yet can recall less and less.

Posted in Scripta, Stories in English and tagged .

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