Our words reverberate,
But I can’t remember what was said.
Four years passed us by –
Now as I walk past the same buildings,
See the spots where we lingered,
The trees are growing older, but the food trucks are the same.
I hear a faint whisper,
Like music in my ears.
When we talked of nothing,
It still meant something –
Something that only belonged to that place in time,
That belonged to me.
I think we just liked to feel our mouths move,
To know we were there.
Even years later, I remember we were there,
Above the city traffic, the conversation lives on –
It echoes.
It echoes.
It echoes.
