Every year, at the end of a long cold night in June, I write... A little something new and unheard about you and me, how much I miss you and this year, I thought about all the things that would be better, if you were still here. The light would be brighter, and the sun would stay till the end of every day, not fading, as it does, by mid-morning blurred by tears. Nights would be short and warm, as the dark sky above glittered, while teardrops held diamonds and pearls lay on the ground. The skip would return to my dance, as my laughter reached the high notes, staying in the room for longer than the time it takes to drink a dark coffee. Christmas, Easter, birthdays, all of our gatherings, no longer half-full anymore, and long weekends especially this one in June would lose their sting, as life became better with you still here. I dream of the music you could be playing, with your mates, the bands and with your nephews, "yo
