Tell me, what more could I possibly do?

I see him, his hair sticking out like music notes, curled up in the end with straight bodies. His lips coated with the pain that's leaked out of those numerous cigarettes he's smoked before. His writing, not just mere words but weaved pieces of diamonds dipped in melancholy. I see him.

Now what more can I possibly do? Than to dress him up with metaphors and paint his memories in all shades of nostalgia on the canvas of my mind. What more can I do? A mortal human like me drowning in the vastness of the universe hidden inside of him. What more can I do? Than to weave words like jewels gift wrapped with my thoughts.

Tell me, what more could I possibly do?