Slowly she walks, her feet bare every object that comes in her path has to be touched, looked at, dissected with her eyes.... There were times this bothered me there were times i wanted to start running to see if she could keep up i knew she couldn't The smells that came from her were different, and i loved them no one will be like her for as long as i live we knew something no one else knew i miss my friend Amy, I wonder what she is doing right now
Poems of loss are always interesting reads because they're universal. The past is a big country and none of us has a passport to get there. I liked it. And I love the name AMY.
thank you very much, I was longing to talk to Amy and had no way to get ahold of her. I thought i would throw it out there
