There are people in life,
who have their very own signature,
their own peculiar thoughts, their own voice, their own accent.
I don't say whether they are right or wrong, good or bad, but they know how to be, how to exist; they have their very own original existence signature.
And they leave that signature along with their footprints on your heart, mind, soul, whole being, and your whole world,
until you keep looking for traces of them in everything and everyone you look at.
Their presence density is so high that you'd feel their absence even more!
You can't ignore their presence, their chromatic existence,
just as how you can't brush off the lack of them.
They've become your encyclopedia before you knew.
In this library we live in, most are just shallow translations of others or cheap copies of each other.
Some are yellow magazines or have a few puzzles to keep you entertained for a short while,
while there are others who are not worth reading even once.
And there are those second-hand books with much bargain but still no one buys them.
But you, my love,
you were this rare book, printed in only one custom edition.
I could read you every day for the rest of my life, and I'm sure I would still need time to go through your pages all over again to be able to understand you.
I'd transcribe from your pages until I'd understand your every word.
Alas, you're gone, and my heart's shelf will always miss its most precious book.

© DawnS.M