Your Cheeks seemed damp from what I remember. Flushed with the inferno from inside that head of yours. Your eyes seemed blurred, but you still had a peculiar piercing gaze. Permanently unable to look me in the eyes. You always had a sharp tongue, ready to jab into anyone ready to listen. My thoughts always go back to you when I see limp flowers. Your frail limbs resembling the fallen red petals from a small rose. I never fail to remember the scale tipping, the balance being lost and the uproar of your finale. All in the blank void we attempted to write on. We had given up, and you eventually lost it. You never smiled anymore. Sanity was foreign to you and apparently so was I.