If you’d never known me, would you miss me?
Would you sometimes listen for a voice that isn’t there,
Would certain smells remind you of a place you’d never been,
Or would you catch a glimpse of me, passing on the stair?
I remember you, although we’ve never met.
I know your eyes, your smile, your breath upon my ear,
I see you in the empty bed, and in the other chair,
I hear your laugh out on the street, and always will, I fear.
Your face sneaks up on me, sometimes,
in keepsakes and old photos, streaked with tears,
proof ephemeral and fine, these memories of you;
the stranger that I never knew, but loved so many years.