I swear I know this place.
I saw you here with a different face.
I still don't understand,
why your echo is so hard to trace.
I'm sure I held your hand.
Bought a CD of your favourite band.
But now the moment fades,
like a postcard from a sunburnt land.
I think I knew your name.
Kept our photo in a gilded frame.
Until the glass wore cracks
and I splintered with reflected blame.
I doubt I'd place your scent.
Or realise what that expression meant.
I try to grasp the straws,
of a haystack where the needle's bent.
I almost drew your shape.
Vaguely dreaming of our weekend scrapes.
But when I close my mind,
a window opens and the past escapes.
I don't recall your face.
Did I meet you in a different place?
I hope you understand,
that the echo makes you hard to trace.