Exclamation

 Last night, when I sat by the window, talking to you, through the moon, I knew someone was listening to me. I pretended not to notice, because someone won't understand a word of it. Who had ever understood what the romantics said?

I touched the windowsill; the wood reminded me of your last days. Weak but warm. I accidentally got a splinter in my finger. It started to remind me of the blood you vomited on my hand, and I kept the brave face; you kept the smile, following the silent agreement that we won't talk about it, and we didn't till your final days. 

I so much envy this full moon; it took all the light from my sun, leaving me in the dark. It shines so bright. Oh, my love, if I could ever hold your hand once more, I would sing the song again, the song of your childhood. I met your friend last month, and he talked about all the happy things that happened between you both, how there was a jungle behind the valley, and your cows were friends, grazing all over the jungle. He told me the last time you met him, you cried a little. I wish you had cried in front of me.

My boots are under the mulberry tree, still trying to find the way; your books are still waiting for you; the clocks have stopped. Only leaves are still falling; from where they come, I don't know. I hope you still remember my weird love for exclamation marks (!). So much joy! So much sadness. I felt these emotions only for you. The day you departed, exclamation marks left my punctuation list. One such shaped leaf fell over my lap, my eyes had dried, I couldn't feel my pulse, but I had understood one thing: a sentence ends with a full stop or question mark for a reason.