Joy is not in things, it is in us.

She sang the songs her lover loved,
She danced a ballerina’s dance.
He shed tears for her night by night,
Forever more where his memories come from.

This moment in time he felt unending pain,
To the point of being driven insane.
His confidante to all his problems at hand,
Rendering all his scarred wounds to mend.

How could one know of his grief and anguish?
What could she get from all this sorrow?
This terminal disease that consumes his heart,
And all that remained was his eventful death.

She gave him warmth,
She gave him life,
She promised him she’d never say goodbye.

He missed her love,
He missed her voice,
When she made her heart wrenching choice.

The pathways they walked and treaded on,
Those places they went and shared ardent kisses.
And the times they hugged and couldn’t let go,
The views they shared that would never grow old.

The nights she walked with him to his home,
Until the very last when he went home alone.
Nights they lingered, unwilling to part,
Yet their future would no longer be.

She showered him with all her care,
His pain didn’t lessen in these 13 moons.
If only she is truly in content
Then would his suffering be forgot.