Memory

I can’t help but find it crazy,

Absurd, even,

That such a crucial part of my life can’t be remembered,

That such a tragic day,

Has slipped through my fingers and broken at my feet,

Shards too small to pick up even with tiny hands,

Tiny hands that hadn’t seen double-digits,

I’m left to wonder what your voice sounded like,

If not for photos, I’d be left in the dark as to what you looked like,

And now, 

6 years on,

I’m still left without my proper goodbye,

At least, I would hope,

Or I like to tell myself,

If I’d have gotten my proper goodbye,

My proper closure,

I wouldn’t be left waiting for you at the door,

I wouldn’t be tricked into thinking from time to time that you’re just off at university, 

And not sitting as a pile of dust,

Please come back,

Please,

I miss you,

At least,

I really think I do.