In the last days of summer
you were my lover,
my life’s detour.

In the last moments I saw you,
I didn’t know who
I had turned into.

In the last month spent in my room,
in this locked up tomb,
I’ve tried to move through this life without you,
this life without you.

Everything,
it happens for a reason.
I'll keep telling myself that
with the change of the seasons.
And I won't move from the top of this mountain,
until I'm repaired.
Where I will begin
the slow formation
of a new constellation.