These things I cant say

Moments don’t leave
They are not people
They are places.
I’m in another city
On my bed.
Its real
Its not in my head.
Little pictures
That we often forget.
Passing a street in a bus
Looking at purple flower trees.
The smallest second when you
Pull your hair behind your ear.
It doesn’t feel the same.
The curtain moves with the wind.
It isn’t memory
For it’s not you, or him
It’s the river, the lane.
Only the soundtrack
No picture story.
The song,
More than song.
This feeling more than pain.