Though I appreciate art, the likes of Romel, and Van Gogh,
Why waste a simple blip of time staring at a photo?
When I can just call out her name, feel her warmth, see her face.
You can't close something that was never opened in the first place.

Hence this album, not displayed, was aged beyond it's looks,
It didn't even ware, we only opened other books.
With no need to reminisce and new moments being made,
We'd always been together, strong connections never fade.

But now I sit here solitary, all alone, a noble gas,
Flipping pages, gazing slowly through a book about our past.
My poetic voice was turned to slur, it left me, effervescence,
Her attitude, the glow she had; demeanor luminescent.

Was it her winning grin and perfect skin that gained all my affection;
Or her innocence, so bold, yet pure that warrented protection?
Could it have been her smile, that smile, that made me want to make her laugh?
Yes, that smile, that smile, my lovely perfect other half.

When I humored her, she humored me, we functioned as a pair,
Everything was perfect, pure commitment always fair.
In all our years, in all that time I'd never gotten more,
Butterflies than when she made that look that I adored.

Unfortunately death was something she could not evade
Unfortunately death is never easily delayed.
Looking down and thinking back to the way that things had been
I can't help but shed a tear and ironically still grin.

Though I appreciate art, the likes of the right ear of Van Gogh
This album, now so precious, is all I have to show.
My life became this incomplete on the day this earth she left.
For Life is platinum in a bank, and death is just the theft.