I write for you. They all tell me that my words are beautiful but they never ask me what I felt when I wrote them. They don’t know that as I write poems I feel sad and angry because I don’t have you anymore. Because I wake up every morning and you’re not here with me. Because when I make my coffee I end up comparing it with the color of your eyes. Because I keep reading so I can stop thinking about you but all it does is remind me of how you looked when you were reading your favourites books. How you get lost in them and didn’t care about the world. I don’t even know how to end this but I want you here, I want you back.