Josie deserved so much more than a handful of meager words. I’d done my best, but I wasn’t a damn poet. I hated that I couldn’t explain why I felt the things I did. My love for her had become part of who I was, stitched into the fabric of my soul. It ran as deep as the oceans, as pure as freshly fallen snow. It existed and was tangible and beautiful, just like her.
