He pictures her chestnut hair falling delicately onto her petite frame,
her small nose twitching when she laughed.
He imagines her creamy smooth skin and perfectly rosy cheeks.
He envisions her breathtaking eyes, that glimmered in the morning sun,
that were sheen, freshly fallen dew.
He closes his eyes and reminisces about her gleeful laugh that reminded him of gardenias blooming
and the way she twiddled her thumbs when she was nervous.
He misses her kisses that brushed across his cheeks like a butterfly flapping its wings.
Tears swell in his dark eyelashes, and his blue eyes turn a milky grey with despair.
Thinking back to the day she told him she was ill,
the agony he felt in his chest arises yet again.
He remembers the day her gorgeous hair started to scatter onto the floor,
the floor he would lay crumpled on for a week after
that collected his pearly tears
and cooled his splotchy cheeks
he thinks back to the days that she said she was fine
but wished to die.
Her emerald eyes started to fade in the last couple days of her life,
a sweater that had been washed too many times.