I remember you
in the soft melt of ice cream...
how you’d smile with every bite,
like the world could pause for something so simple.
I remember you
in every February breeze...
your birthday month,
when the world felt lighter
just because you were in it.
I remember you
on New Year’s Eve,
when the clock would strike midnight
and I’d be waiting,
just to hear your voice—
hoping you to say,
"Happy New Year, my love."
I remember you
every single morning.
I still reach for my phone,
still hoping to see your name
in a message that will never come.
I remember you
as I get ready for work...
your voice echoing in my head,
“Take care, okay?”
And God, I wish you still could say it.
I remember you
at lunch breaks,
when time slowed down
just enough for me
to hear about your day,
to laugh,
to feel close,
even from afar.
And I remember you most
at the end of the day...
when the world quiets,
when it's just me and the ache
of missing you.
That was always our time.
The hours we owned.
The part of the day
that felt like home.
Now, it's just silence.
But I still remember you.
I always will.
