Maybe it was you. There are many others, very different and still almost the same. If you smiled again and said my name, I could be sure... but what about the others? Who needs me the most?
Some days, I'm seduced by the forgotten scents of cigarette smoke and vanilla. My dreams are pierced by your cries, a language that you and I alone understand.
I remember your piano song. Play it again, then I will sing. It seems that whenever I speak, you reply with sorrowful silence. You must have something to say.
None of them speak, but silently, they ask the same questions. Why must I be the one to answer?
Sometimes they leave, and as I begin to forget everything, they return. My beautiful shadows. The secrets I have never been told, still somehow, I keep them. The stories I never heard, but somehow I know them, for they are our words.
Maybe one day you will speak. You might say that you don't need me. Maybe then you'll leave me, and not return... but how alone I would be. Maybe, if I asked, I would understand. It makes no difference.
Maybe it was you. Maybe you were holding someone's hand. Her hair danced in the breeze, as she walked by your side. Maybe you looked at me. Maybe it wasn't you at all. I felt sure the face was beautiful, but the sun shone in my eyes...