A specific date each year.
That period of time between the early hours of the day.
Each Sunday afternoon.
All full moons.
Sunsets.
For many of these, you hold special ceremonies, parties, memorials. A small tradition maybe, a private celebration, or a huge gathering.
And then there are the inconspicuous ones, those you do not expect or even fathom they could punch so hard. Those that normally pass by undistinguished, or have an entirely different interpretation by the rest of the world. But not for you. You, you know. Cause you thought of them in a different way. With your own scope. And now they are a monument in that moment in time. Another reminder. Another mark.
2 years. 2 months. 2 weeks. 2 days.
2⁴.
I fucking miss you.
