Last night I went into your room. With just a tickle I'd be in stitches soon. Your breath was warm on my neck, and it filled my soul. With just a few jokes you were on a roll. I'd never been so happy in all my days. In my mind I promptly tattooed your loving gaze. You slept in the spare room, said it felt cozy and reminded you of home. Shortly we were yawning, so I left you alone.
Morning came and something didn't feel right. I peered into your room and saw your sleeping lips were clenched tight. I softly sat beside you and touched your cheek, only to not have it stir you from sleep. Gently I touched your lips to my own and they felt cold. Your hair had seemed to have lost its luster and your face appeared old.
I rested my ear to your chest and almost thought I'd laugh, but the only thing that escaped me was a gasp. "No, no, this can't be true! My love is dead, what on earth will I do?" A tear fell on your lifeless cheek and I couldn't breathe. I felt extremely weak. I cried large tears, and for a moment pretended you were only in a deep slumber. Then the impact hit and came crashing down like thunder. I now know never again would I laugh or smile. Your absence would stain me permanently blue. I'd never get the chance to say I love you.