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.