I want to paint you pictures with my words. I want the colors to fit together like puzzle pieces, so that only you and I can see them. On the white canvas of my looseleaf paper, I want to use the watercolors of my plastic pen to show you the wonders of the world.

I want to make my words dance across the page for you, flitting in and out, twirling in a dance no one else knows. Make this notebook my stage, the pen the dancer. I want graceful, beautiful words.

I want these words to sing, a lullaby meant only for you and me. Notes singing from the paper, exquisite sounds that precious few can hear. I want them to sing so that no matter where you are, when you look up at the stars you can hear my song.

But my words will never sing and dance for you; you will never see my paintings, the ones just for you. Because the day you took your own life, you took a little piece of me. When you closed your eyes forever.

Now that you’re gone, my words cannot sing and dance for you.

I don’t know if they ever will again.