There was something important about this morning
The dreams were there there,
Not bad, not good, seemingly important
Those ones you try to remember very much in the morning and fail terribly, every time
But the feeling that something special exists about this day stayed
Then an image of a yellow skirt somewhat emerged
From the purple of the mind that slowly turns into violet and mauve and then fades into a clear blank space
And then a flash of the Thursday of a January, exactly a year ago appeared
And never stayed, or did it
How long is a year?
This one seems to be longer than a lifetime
Like ageless existences
Like a loooong moment that carries with it histories it ordinarily considers heavy
Is it gone?
Can it go?