life.

Pictures. 

I see a picture of you,

I recognize you,

but I don’t know you.

I listen to your favourite song on the radio,

don’t know,

that you have listened to this song too,

some years ago.

I sit on the place,

where you’re bury,

present you a flower,

but don’t know who you are.

Many people tell stories about you,

people, who loved you,

who knew you,

who miss you.

Sometimes I envy them,

Cause I have no memory.

You are just a photo in my room.