I like to imagine you reading. There in white sheets. Two pillows underneath your blanket of soft brown hair. Your hair is what I admired most of you. The way it would waterfall about your frame, silhouetting your features in chocolate cascades.
I like to imagine you reading. There in white sheets. With your newest RM Drake, and his short sweet eurekas. You loved to read him aloud to me. You would smile slightly in a smile saved for when you read one that particularly struck you the way that only good literature can.
I like to imagine you reading. There in white sheets. Even though you never could stomach what I read. And I would get angry because of the world's that I wanted to show you but knew that I couldn't. You never shook hands with Hem or Buk the way I wished and wished that you would. Sometimes your reading was more honest. Sometimes your emotion was more true.
I like to imagine you reading. There in white sheets. I would sit across from you, analyze and seek to emulate every word while you would read and only feel it, in a way I never could.
I like to imagine you reading. There in white sheets. Now that I have lost you it helps me to do it. I still have the word and I still have books and the world's I was left to travel alone
I like to imagine you reading. There in white sheets. I only hope one day you may read this and smile slightly in that way that only you do.