I do not remember you

all at once

ever?

or never anymore.

In the way someone across the street

laughed with their head tilted back.

In cold mugs of tea

left unfinished beside windowsills.

In sleeves pulled over trembling hands

wiping at a thousand crystal tears

grey and pale like the winter sky.

I cannot fully recall

the sound of your voice

the feeling of it stays-

soft around the edges

like the distant strains of a violin.

Your face blurs sometimes,

never enough to disappear,

just enough to frighten me.

The way you tapped your fingers

against tabletops without noticing.

Or was it banging?

How you always walked a step ahead,

Or was that you always running?

The crease you left in the corners of books,

unfinished.

like you.

like us.

Strange,

how a whole person

can slowly reduce

into tiny, surviving details,

and still feel unbearably alive.

Memory,

Yromem,

Not to preserve

Only to keep

The pieces sharp enough

To wound us gently for everlasting eternity.

Signing off…