This is an original poem by John Ficenec. Please enjoy with a box of tissues nearby. 

I imagine us.

Us, on a warm summer’s eve.

We’re sifting through a box of Mike & Ike’s,

I eat the yellow, orange, and green.

And you eat the pink and the red,

looking so serene.

Before this, that is, us, sitting upon a hill,

We just walked around for hours.

And although we didn’t mean to, time, we certainly did kill.

The soundtrack playing in my mind, contained my favorites and yours;

“Across the Universe”,

and “The River”.

It’s cliché to say I never want this to end,

but it’s true.

And with each passing moment,

it becomes harder,

deciding whether to leave this imaginary world,

or travel in it even farther.

But the logical voice inside my head,

tells me not to reminisce about the dead.

Because the dead are gone forever,

gone for good,

and it’s best to leave their memories in the back of your mind,

in the past and withstood.

But that’s all I have of you, memories.

There are no photographs, letters, or diaries.

I suppose that makes it better, in a sense,

Not having any objects to remind me of you,

nothing to feel, nothing to touch,

I’d rather just dream about you,

than use some tangible items as a crutch.

But if there’s one thing I miss, it’s your smell;

A (wonderful) combination of milk, honey, and Chanel.

Your rich and redolent aroma,

Is probably what put you into a coma.

And in that coma you laid, for sixteen months,

and after that, your parents had just about enough.

I couldn’t disagree with them more,

but I know it’s what you wanted,

to not bother the living by being a dying bore.

So I’ll keep these memories of you and me,

old and new, wild and free.

Delicate and lovely, imaginary and real,

but never for me to touch,

nor to feel.