Three months have passed.
I didn't even given the chance to say my goodbyes.
You left way too soon.
The sky has been gloomy all day.
I don't even answer my phone when my friends call.
After a day has passed, I respond.
They'll certainly inquire. "How do you feel?"
I make an effort to be happy.
Do I have to do this?
I suppose when the first flakes snow fall comes,
I won't be embraced by you.
Every grin,
even every tear you shed,
isn't mine anymore.