As I sit here, with tears streaming down my porcelain face,
I finally realize it is not so porcelain at all.
The porcelain becomes a clay-like feel and becomes a rose-colored tone.
I hear the sweet sound of a love song that reminds me of him,
As my tears start to grow stronger to run faster down my warm cheeks.
My stomach aches, feels as if there are a dozen butterflies within,
And they have no where to be set free,
Yet they have no better place to escape the emptiness, but there.
I miss him, being my last call of the night,
The one I could share everything with and I could trust any day,
Talking to him would make all my complaints and worries go away.
I miss his bottom lip, knowing of all, knowing just the sweet ways,
So soft and so smooth, touching mine,
All-knowing of love without any words, just by true emotions.
Looking into his eyes, I know his thoughts and his feelings,
More than could ever be said or be expressed.
So real and so intense, all that is lost and will never be forgotten.
The love will always be there, even as time continues to move on,
I have learned that neither him nor I are porcelain.
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