Ink Stained Hands

Hands stained with ink, as I desperately flip through pages
Searching for your face, so hard to find in this mess of black and white
Death.
You shouldn't, couldn't be this hard to find, My eyes should fall upon the latest date, freshest face,
Because you died much too young.
Tears melt through thin paper pages as I wish, hope, pray you could be sitting next to me right this very second.
Ink stained hands tremble
Numb feet just want to run away
Eyes never want to look back.
Ink stained hands wish they could pull your picture from the cemetery of black and white words some call the obituaries.