She is nothing to me

But pure beauty

Yet in my head I hold no portrait

except the picture I create by sifting through my memories to find her

Her personality

Her humor

Her intelligence

Her kindness

Through my pen I sketch an image of our hands enfolded in which lie the things we share

Pride rests in the palm of her hand and grazes my thumb

Rainbows explode from our fingertips and show our invisible powers

My eyes glow when I see her voice

Yes, it’s possible

My heart knows it for it beats millions of beats per second.

It is a cauldron in which love, hate, depression, and magic, boils and bubbles

It is the magic which makes it possible for me to live without her