I’m not sure about May. About how the days passed. I remember laughing.
I remember ghosts touching my eyelids when I closed my eyes. I remember the sky and the sea. I remember them in his eyes.
I remember leftover flowers withering, and my eyes turning grey and my heart beating too fast. Or too slow.
I remember dreaming of falling, but not of drowning: I kept pulling at the moon, clutching it as tightly as I could.
I remember the silence at the end of the dream. The silence trapped in the teardrops dripping on my face.
I remember hazy days, silent days, loud days, hot days, long days.
And a sense of emptiness. Always there.