Sometimes I can imagine you,
late at night standing in my room.
Looking at me with the love you used to,
smelling of your favourite perfume.
Like an angel from above,
your memory towers over me.
And out of my burning love,
I try to be what you'd want to see.
Your loss is agonising,
after so long the sorrow doesn't tire.
Yet it's not surprising,
that it still burns like fire.
You were my role model,
my picture of what a woman should be.
You were my mother,
who I so wish could be guiding me.
