Is it weird how I remember one of your favorite artists was Frank Sinatra? That Red you adored. On your lips, on your nails, clip clopping heels on the floor. That you were born on the 18th In one of the J's of summer. That you eyes were "fat" you called them and Sad.. and beautiful.. I cannot look at them anymore they are filled with everything everything. Is it weird that I remember how full the face of you how alluring, proactive, your smile I remember even, how you hated your nose It was too wide you said. How your cheeks were too thick for your taste. Its weird. How in class, as we learn about Shakespeare, I still look forward for that little second to telling you, showing you what I've learned of what you like. I miss how I got used to out short random chit chats. You'd inspire me to come to love an idol of yours and not only for you she now lives inside Marilyn Monroe. Her beauty you desired, her beauty you longed for and admired and I to she only reminds me of you just of you I wonder how would that be to know? How you were the Spain to my Romano and my Romano to your Spain. How you made me love Spain, Antonio- Carriedo. That Tomato ******* head. How you portrayed him, with your joy all of you joy and with the underlying of your sadness was his sadness made him beautiful. My heart cherishes your Spain, and cherishes you. Its odd, how I remember your voice. The exact tone, and that sometimes I hear it, or want to and find myself remembering a time when you spoke the words I love you doubtful always, careful, but openly. I miss you. I do. I think of you every passing day. Its as if you were dead, good forbid it, far ahead it will come but for now its all the same. You are gone from my life. I'm sorry, so sorry.... but no more regrets. I miss you my friend. You were one of the best.