The Part of You, You Don't Own

Para Sergio Marino, meu último adeus.

You don't know. But, I've been stealing. 

I've saved a smile of yours. 

A frown from behind that desk. 

Your face, your eyes, that scar. 

The tilt of your head, from yesterday, at 15 degrees. 

That mole on your neck. 

The smell of your hair, and the wind that blew through it. 

The vibrations of your voice. 

A tear, and the light that shone off it. 

Your walk, that walk. 

Your words, every word. 

Your laugh, your gasp. 

The way you sound when you're out of breath. 

A little song you'd hummed just the other day. 

That clumsy skip you made on your way. 

A weird noise. A feisty reply. 

A really funny, awkward goodbye. 

A silly "huh?", a helpless "why?". 

A stubborn "No", a silent cry. 

A look of anger on your face. 

A look of sorrow, of peace... 

A look of turbulence, a look of hope. 

And a naked look of love. 

I've taken a million snapshots of you in my head. 

I've recorded your every word, heartbeat and footstep. 

I have exhausted my memory space with you. 

And I've stolen every second I could. 

And saved you, in a place safe even from time. 

And in this moment, this ache. It's mine. 

Mine to cherish. Mine to keep. 

Mine to live with. 

There's a part of you, you do not own. 

And this part of you... is mine.

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