I sat at the corner of our street. It's funny the way things mean so much to us but nothing to others. It's strange, the metaphysical way you hold my face in your hands is something only we understand. Our street. We met here. We met again here. Sometimes I get coffee by myself at our coffee shop just to reminisce on that day. You were so beautiful. The way your hair perfectly frames your face. I always talked about your eyes. I found God in them, how could I not? The sky whispers your name to me on a daily basis. What did you think of me back then? I thought you were perfect. I think you are perfect. When I look at the sky I think of you. You love the sky and all its gradients. I imagine that when you look up at the sky you imagine limitless possibilities. Sometimes I think you might fly away. I always call you angel and I think it's appropriate. You're a beauty far too great to be of earthly descent. I look up at the sky and take another sip of the coffee. You always liked yours sweet. I look up at the sky and take another thought of you. I do that often. The funny way things mean so much to us but nothing to others. There's beauty in the closeness we share. There's beauty in everything about you. I look up at the sky one more time.