Living without you

Living without you,
what a hard lesson;
before my mirror,
learning to speak with myself.
The maestro who teaches me
is endless time.

Living without you,
what a hard lesson;
like someone who no longer sees
and gradually, room by room,
recognises their furniture
from the knocks on the legs.

Time kisses my eyes
and dries my tears;
slowly erasing
the scents you left behind.
Again the night and I
in this large bed.

And the feared peace
that returns home;
and for such a long time
has been asking to come in
offering me, tenderly,
its ice-cold hand.

Living without you
and, little by little, forgetting you.