64. Your Face Is White.

As I watch you laugh in virtual motion, I wish you to be back. What else am I to do but look up in hopes of you living an afterlife? That you should be beaming down on me with serene, happy thoughts? So I look up in hopes of seeing your face, should it be in my mind only; just picturing your face should suffice. But all in all, as great as my imagination could be, all I'm really seeing is a white ceiling blurred by my tears.