in summer sunsets I find the glowing embers of your eyes as if the poets and painters gazed upon your irises in reference
the art sat for centuries before your date of birth as if some prophecy that roses could be pale as ice with scathing tones and imbruing eyes to my forested mind
When you wake up with a great smile on your face. When you appreciate all the little things of your life. When you live freely without having fear of others. That's what happen when you move on.