The photograph

I awaken but we are still in an eternal slumber,
Are you real, or are you there inside?
I think you are real but clearly I am out numbered,
But you are still as lifeless as a number who can't divide.

You are lying there in your large, lonely bed,
Surrounded by gold and silver with me slightly raised,
Yet you are still there partially dead.
Possibly, maybe you already knew I was afraid.

Your flowery fragrance filled the entire room,
But yet I still didn't quite know you,
But now I have enough knowledge to ride a broom.
But I just can't find you.

I feel like you have been gone for a decade,
But you have been right there everyday.
You stand there with a look as sharp as a blade,
But can I trust that you will always stay?

We could go together and talk in your room,
And feel the happiness I feel when I'm with you.
I will watch our relationship bloom,
But I forgot that you are not new.

You will never be who you were,
At least you will be down to the earth.

you will be the photo on my shelf,
And I'll be on my way by myself.