"I want to write something beautiful for you," he would say, gazing deep into her eyes.
His left hand around her waist, firm on her back. The other on her shoulder, the back of his fingers kissing her cheek.
She would press against his arm, their eyes drawing closer. Transfixed, she would smile.
But he never wrote. Perhaps he waited too long.
"I want to write something beautiful for her!" he sighs - now that she is gone.
Will he ever?
Memories of her gaze follow his eyes. Her smile lingers below.