I remember when I couldn’t blow the candles out and you had to do it for me and it’s been such a long time, but you’re still on my mind.
I remember the nights when laughter meant we had our fair shares of tears too, it only makes the happy moments that much more beautiful. And I can choose to forget it, but I don’t. How could I?
I remember when you said the trees had leaves like how we have fingers because it wants to hold hands with the clouds, but it could never reach. So when it rains, I think about you. So when it rains, it hurts because it’s true. You’re gone and I’m left with a metaphor that can’t even compare to the hole I feel as I step onto the street and fall into every memory that you kept inside and though I’m alive, I don’t feel like it. I feel dead.
I remember when you said ants had feelings too. Don’t step on them. Don’t destroy something small just because you’re bigger, and size did not matter. Frail and tiny, your hands cupped my cheeks and I can’t help, but remember how you made winter warm.
I remember when they called me and said your heart just doesn’t beat the same. And I’m left with guilt, no letters, no poems. Nothing. Just plain guilt. Maybe I shouldn’t called you more often. Maybe I should’ve worked less. Maybe I shouldn’t have missed your birthday and maybe I should’ve helped you blow out those candles like how you did for me.
I remember the alphabet and I always spell your name when it gets kinda late, the abcs of life seems to toy with my feelings. We learn so little about ourselves within these years.
I remember everything about you.
And maybe that’s why it hurts.
So when it rains for hours,
maybe it’s just your way of saying