I could make a poem about you,
but I forgot the font that you like.
I could paint a picture of you,
but you are the artist and you’ll laugh at it.
I already forgot the color of your eyes.
You said it’s red, but I can’t remember.
The last image that I saw was blurred,
hidden behind the tear in your eye.
Maybe I could play some of our songs
but all CDs are scratched by the time.
Some of the movies? Books that we liked?
Some of the quotes that I didn’t write?
A phone call? A Letter?
Wave from the cloud?
Greeting from Alaska? Snow from my heart?
What can I give you after all this time?