Sometimes I'd walk up
You were busy doing something
I'd watch your delicate hands,
The intensity in your eyes,
The way you bit your lip
Concentrating on the task at hand.
Then you'd look up at me
And the rest of the world was instantly gone.
There was just a channel,
A connection between us.

I pushed you in a swing once...
They say that an object in motion...
Stays in motion.
It never stops moving.
Continuing to glide in infinitesimally smaller arcs.
Is the swing still moving from you being inside of it?

If you touched something
You added the heat from your hand
Gave warmth to it.
Is some aspect of you still here?

I still remember you.
Is it because your presence never left?
Is it because I can't forget?
Am I insane with grief?

All these grieving people...
...because someone couldn't go home and drink there.