The sadness after all,

is that at the midnight of your birthday I wish to tell you everything that you deserved but we are now strangers

every time that a street has the echoes of you I want to send you a photo and talk until autumn, but we are nameless

I stay in the hills sighing because I know deep in my molecules that your shoulder would bring me the answers that the world can't, but now we are amnesia.

And the heartache of it all is that,

yesterday I fell for someone on the street, and tomorrow I will fall for someone in college and the day after tomorrow I will fall for someone in the elevator. 

However, they will hold no value if I can't tell you how their eyes with their hair competed for my attention

because those are words for the imaginary of you in my mind, since the sad part of all is that you are a constant state of mourning.

Ta.