Back to square one

And it hits again.
Your voice - the feel of which I wanted to forget.
I had almost succeeded in my personal burial,
my memorial service,
And then you happened.

You laugh - and I'm back,
Talking of the rain, and the lanes, and where shores met our feet.
Waiting for your friends whom I'll never really see,
The frosted glasses, beer, which I'll never really drink.

Blue-Olive
The imaginary walks,
The silent talks,
Where you took me to see your hiding places,
Your plants, your music, yourself.

Is it ever to happen?
The boat behind - will it ever sail?
Are we to walk the shores...
Drain that glass of beer...
Trace my lips with your fleeting fingers?

What do you do when the music stops?
When all the noise around you fails.
That moment - that millisecond of silence -that dread.
The truth hits you on the face - it is just You...
...alone.