I do miss you, a rose that perished.
I imagine your color is much more yellow. Your smell much more sweet. I hope your roots are stronger and your highest vine higher than before. I still think you were the perfect one. Despite your beauty you were contained and restricted by a cancer of doubt. A cancer easily developed. Something I to felt. Delusions of your form are always present. More vivid when I sleep. I have no answers only questions. A bond through the ages, maybe, destined to always be almost. I fear to reach out because your space is sacred, I rather leave it to someone else's doing. I had your image in my mind before I knew you, therefore I can't forget what was there before me.