With somber eyes, I stare at your photo, with the desperation of you moving, maybe if I look at it long enough, you’ll start moving, and I’ll see your face with a smile again, you’ll laugh and fix your hair, you’re alive again, but it doesn’t do anything, Looking at your photos doesn’t change the fact that your soul lies beneath, listening to the sound of your left behind vessel, you’re quiet, and I’m desperate to hear you.

I question on a daily; how can someone who’s so full of soul and noise be so quiet and still? It’s unreal, you are a face without eyes and a body without voice, once filled with life now occupied in void, coursing through the big wide open, filled with stars and the absence of light with no certain destination, with no intention of coming back home. as your body slowly disappears underground and the only thing left of you are your resting bones pervaded by memories, do know that I left a trail of flowers from your grave to the place you once called home. You can always find your way back.

— Deinn.