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