Always kind,
And soft spoken.
While imprisoned in the moment.
Through the glare,
On her glasses,
She unsheathes,
And she flourishes.

I don't miss her much at all...

Built inside her,
Since she was orphaned.
The tender age of six.
Alone and abandoned.
So I can't blame her.
Nor do I lose any respect.
She may be gone forever...

But she was my friend.

And I don't really miss her.
Not much at all.
Through the glare in her glasses,
Is the only way I see her.
Lashing out,
To a wireless receiver.
This isn't social network.
It's a virtual nightmare.

I remember the way, your soft face, glowed as the sun reflected off of the snow banks.

You made each night,
Just a little more bright.