In my memories
there is no moon.
No sky.
Only emotion —
and a silence soft as breath.
I don't remember
the shape of the buildings,
or the little things I left around the room —
not even the hurried faces in the hallway.
But I remember their laughter.
I remember the peace:
a stillness that asked for nothing
and gave everything.
Strangely, the sky I keep is a golden sunset,
spilling through the windows —
soft and warm, as if time forgot to move.
That light braided itself into my thoughts,
lacing the days with a color I could carry.
Those afternoons once burned bright and clear.
Now the colors have thinned for me, faded at the edges—
but the sun still leans over the places I am no longer part of.
Isn't it strange, that the only thing I truly remember
is the sun — and the way it felt on my skin?
That the rest has become shadows and lost names?
But I must not forget,
In memories is where,
I will have to cherish them.
Still somewhere in my past.