our knife is still there
resting in its watery grave
beneath everything that is important to me now

your footprints are still there
probably invisible to all but me
i walk alongside them, holding a formless hand

our names are still there
etched into the woodwork, scarring its skin for an
eternity
A reminder, brutal in appearance, of what once was
everything

Your voice is still there
Echoing through the lifeless corridors
Filling every empty corner with a whisper of that
which i could never let go

Your scent is still there
Flying through the unforgiving sky
Finding me at the furthest borders, bringing me to my
knees all over again

I still write your name from time to time
You taught me how so long ago
Maybe one day, you'll come back to me, and teach me how
to stop