Everything reminds me of him. It's not like I don't want to forget get him over, which I should do... but, it's not that easy. Living here. Every Friday, at the same time as ever, I keep looking through the window, waiting for him to pick me up and go out. I remember him with the streets we used to walk through, with the songs we used to sing, with every sunny day, with his graffitis, with the places we used to go, when I see guys doing skating stuff, when I get back home by bus. More than 365 days. More than 365 different moments. Each one are in my mind, written with permanent ink. I was plenty and completely happy. Even though I get over the limits of my happiness. And, now that my mind and my soul know that I can do it for being happy, they have achieved doing it for being sad, getting over the limits of my pain.
At first I thought that I was great and I could reach it alone. But then, I realized how empty I was, and I couldn't refill myself. Looking at a picture of him were immediate tears. Walking my way for going home meant finding all those grafittis that he made for me, and that made me cry. He would never tell me again he loved me. He would never comfort me again when I were sad. He would never make me laugh again in our way. Anyway, I'm not more than a forgotten memory in the past. He doesn't feel anything when he looks at me. I'm just a person that has passed through his life. No more or less important that anyone. I'm just like everyone.
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