//Memory is a funny thing//
Two years has gone by
And still I can bring back every detail
Of that day in the meadow,
When he called me spring for the first time
In the month of autumn.
Another year passed.
The meadow scene still comes back to me often,
The smell of dried leaves,
The chirping of birds,
Everything so absolutely clear.
I feel as if I can reach out and trace them,
But the scene as clear as it is,
Has no one in it,
Neither him nor me.
Last night my roommate asked me
How I am doing!
I bent forward,
My face in my hands
to keep my skull from splitting open.
I tell her how I am left holding a background of a meadow
With no people in front.