I loved his hair when it got too long,
and the way he looked bald when he got it cut.
I loved the way he looked, cycling on his too-small bike.
I loved the bass in his musical voice, the way he'd say my name, and
the way he loved music more than anything else.
I loved the way he accepted me, and everything else, with a smile and
But most of all, I loved his blind optimism, and the way his eyes
would crinkle when he was happy and in love with the world.
But tragedy swept through his life like a hurricane,
leaving him to walk alone through the destruction
of his beautiful world.
His eyes do not crinkle anymore.