It's been 6 months, 2 weeks, 1 day, 5 hours, 3 minutes and 21 seconds since you've left. Not a phone call or a text from you. Not even a simple letter to tell me that you're well. Sometimes I hear my phone ring or make a buzz sound, even when it doesn't. Sometimes I hear someone knock the front door, even when nobody is knocking. Sometimes I hear your voice. Sometimes I can smell your Cologne. Sometimes feel your arms around my body when I sleep. Sometimes I feel your hand over my hand. I have almost nothing left of you, except for my memory and a t-shirt.
