Frozen eyes and scattered lips, that’s all left in your portrait.

Unzipped wounds of cruelty are stained by scarlet white.

Fragments of linen hold up a fragrance which pierces my nose.

 In your eyes, I am seeing me, placid,

But mine turns out to be empty.

You, the missing piece I searched for,

but now what is the puzzle, indeed?

Your pale body still filled with red,

but now I’ve lost all my colours.

Grave news I murmured to those seconds marching on your wrist,

But they kept moving, without any regret, just like the one you loved with your whole heart.

Now, he has gone and I stand still, holding your portrait.

Without a brush nor any colours,

But a need to complete the incomplete picture of my life.