Seven Years Ago

— — — — — — — — —

I still buy two tickets to movies

Waiting for hours for her to come.

I still order two cappuccinos

The coffee turns cold and I drink them both.

I still wait with an umbrella in the rains

And I return home with wet shoes, alone.

Seven years have passed since that day

And still she seems around — all the time.

Complaining how shabbily I comb my hair

And how little I speak to her friends at parties.

In such a short time she gave me

A lifetime of beautiful memories.

Like the tongue always returns

To the space left by a missing tooth

I often drift in time to that pretty girl

Who died seven years ago.

R.