I hold your sweater in front of me.
It still smells like you.
The grief of missing is coming over me.
My days with you were like walking through a field of my favorite flowers.
That's why I always started Friday mornings by calling you.
I hold your letter in my hands.
The tears are running down my cheeks.
I know this is the last time, I'll read your handwriting again.
Wow, I guess I really do miss you.
On my birthday you gave me a kiss.
My reactions became slower.
"Happy birthday, honey!" is all I can remember
It was four o'clock a week later before I had the guts to call you.
It's three years since I met you.
"Sjenja, right?" you asked.
I can't believe you knew my name.
These last few weeks my mind has been cloudy.
I'm now arriving at the last stop of this heartbreak shit.
There was complete silence the last time I met you.
I immediately turned around and walked away.
"Sjenja, what's wrong?" you asked.
It was eight o'clock and the sunset had begun.
I lit a cigarette just to make you mad.
The next days I kept a low profile.
I arrived late to our meeting only because I was trying to look good for you.
I held the tiny envelope in my hands.
"Here," I said and gave it to you.
And then I turned around and never saw you again.
