my greif

So today I opened up an album
Scanned the worn pages, flipped them one by one
Discarded pictures I haven’t seen in ages
Warm faces in places around the country
Soon I stopped looking, somehow I found her
I raised the picture up from its crypt
Blew a whistle, saluted the brunette chick
Vermillion lips, and great bone structure
She was short but her heart compensated
Pic’s good, but her fixed stare complicates it
Features whiter than feathers of a dove
Her bold blue eyes are a fragile reservoir
That leak slowly like bad pipes that drip in sinks
As I search her pupils for a response
The only answer I receive is silence
Feelings come back like women to abusers
Emotions flood the entrance of my chest
Submerging my organs to there last breath
When I see her I think of Nostalgia
The memory is grim but she isn’t death
I don’t feel bad I just feel the regret