I was so happy.
My face was crinkled with wrinkles,
Not from age, but from laughter.

When his hands were in mine and our foreheads were touching,
I could see nothing else,
But rainbows, butterflies and pretty colours,
All reflected in the shine of his kind, brown eyes.

But then he crashed,
And his body burned in the fuming petrol of his car,
And he was stolen from me.

When I heard the news, I told them they were lying.
I could still see him and smell him,
And hear the soft hum of his baritone voice,
And feel the tenderness of his skin.

My mind knew that he was dead,
But my heart refused.

I completely lost myself,
I was fighting a losing battle.
But somehow, somewhere, a door unhinged,
And the tears broke free.

And so,
I am happy.
Yet my face is crinkled with wrinkles,
Of age.

But I am not sad,
For my love lives on,
As he dances away in my heart,
And stays forever in my fading memories.