A guitar. A butterfly knife. A book of doodles. Random objects that defined you as a person. Like pieces of a broken mirror. When apart, each show a different picture, but when whole, one image. You.
I sit here and listen to the rain, each drop like a stroke of a key. I think of you, and hear your voice in my head. I see your face. I see you walk towards me. And then you dissapear. Just like that day.
The last time I saw you. All you said was "Peace."