The nights change, but I still feel.
This one has your smile.
This one walks like you.
This one sometimes says hello
Like you sometimes did on Thursdays
In the rain (or some other cliché).
I don’t expect anything from them.
Yet I find myself disappointed
When they leave.
I shouldn’t’ let myself get weighted down
By these receding anchors.
They only wish to drag me down with them
And leave me without so much as a whisper goodbye
Or a promise that it could rain.