It kills me to imagine a world where no one else knows Your tender compassion And the sound of your fun hellos Pictures to which I refer Would never do you justice And if asked who you were, a living poem is all I could suffice. I know photographs and stories could never tell of young dreams Because to them, our sentimental sagas are just sundries. I remember how you’d frown at your reflection. I remember how I’d smile at your perfection. I never cared for my smile Until the thought of you never showing off yours. I never cared for my walk Until the thought of you never walking through doors No, I never liked much about me and the things that I do. Until I saw who I turned out to be which was someone like you. I soon learned to love all of my parts and all of my quirks For they were loved by all of your heart and raised by all of your works. And If by chance heaven pulls you close and I’m forced to carry on your smile and inherit your habits, These are things I would gladly do If all of me is what shows a glimpse of you