You are not there.

When in the winter morning breeze, floating snowflakes gently land on my lids. Such intricate and delicate pieces of art, but ruined so easily and imperceptibly.

You are not there.

When I’m by the river, gazing into nothingness as raindrops softly drum on the foliage. I wonder if I will ever learn the language, the songs and the stories of the tree I lean on. Then I might share with it the memories of you.

You are not there.

When on a spring night blanketed by darkness, I lie on a bench under the clear sky. Always a familiar sight. Pollux and Castor still holding hands. Cygnus racing across the sky, perhaps still with the spirit of Phaeton. But my gaze always fixes on the star I named after you. Eta Ursae Majoris (η UMa). The Star of Twinkling Brilliance. Over a hundred light years away.

You are not there.

When I’m laughing with my friends or smiling in solitude. Or when tears, laden with sorrow, flood my eyes.

You are not there.

Yet it is the thoughts of you which fill my life with a thousand colors of the summer days. Thoughts of you, which keep me warm in the coldest nights. Thoughts of you, which will thread softly on my mind. Forever.

And you. You are so innocently unaware.