'What was right about her?' They asked and I didn't blame them for their questions because nobody understood the puzzle that you were like I did.
'What was beautiful about her?' They questioned and it made me wonder whether or not they perceived beauty because you were the most vibrant thing these eyes had ever seen.
'What was interesting about her?' They probed so I showed them my journals and it was filled with every moment, every thought, every touch you had imprinted on my life so much so that it seemed I was truly nothing before and after you.
They made me examine myself as much as you did but in a way much different than I had learned, for both were my compasses yet you never pointed north. My soul felt liberated while it had you in its horizon as if reality was nothing but my sketch book and you my pencil. I Scribbled on the blank pages, words and art that were inconsequential yet viable to me, to you, to us... Until there was no more us.