The heaviness of her airy kisses. The instance of her flowing movements. The laughing past of her tears.

It’s my memories hardly thrown in head before my everyday alarm clock shouts.

The elusive light gleam that she kept every sunrise. The bouquet of blooming herbarium that she collected on her last autumn. The soundless feelings she cried in her first songs.

I don’t remember curtains on the windows. I don’t remember the colors of flowers. I don’t remember the words of songs.

Today I woke up because of my alarm clock.