On my mind I can see you standing there,
at the trainstation, at our meetingpoint.
I remember the clothes you wore,
and the ones I wore and how you liked them.
I can recall the smell of your hair
and the warmth of your hug
and the colour of your eyes
and the sound of your voice.
If I could forget, then I could let you go.
But I hold the memories like a treasure.
And with them I hold the pain.
What if we never met again?
Just in case I would be happy
to remember all the details.