All it took was a photograph.

I looked at your picture for hours, days, weeks on end. I memorized every line, every curve of your face. Skin so smooth, so perfect, so pale, you seemed carved out of purest marble.

Your hair, dark, long, like a river of night. How it flowed over your shoulders, caressed them like a lover.

Your eyes, dark, mysterious. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. And I stared deep, seeing how far into your soul you would let me.

Your lips, so soft, any man would willingly die for one quick touch against their skin.

And through knowing the picture, I came to know you. Your joys, your sorrows. Your hopes, fears, desires. Everything.

And with all that, I knew I loved you.

How cruel fate is that you died ten years before I was even born.