"I miss the sweetest tones you'd give me when I asked you to sing, the captivating drawings when you were bored, and those poignant poems you wrote on solemn, star-gazed nights.
I still remember the one you wrote portraying love with two freezing porcupines in a harsh winter. They needed to find warmth from each other, yet every time they do, their spikes would bleed them, separating the two."
