It's getting harder to breath, as room to dream strinks. New ideas are more difficult to create as I age and my mind deteriates, the days of 16 killed the past self that I felt held the most potential. Now every time I close my eyes the only thing  i can remember are those blue eyes. In my paintings, the only colors I see are blue, red ,and gray. Your death transformed Halloween and Christmas to be dreaded dates. Stuck living in the past, trying to remember the curve of you face, depth of your eyes, and the sound of your voice, I ignore the future, for in time the trials of life have been turning me into a bitter morbid soul. I miss you.