Extraordinary.

He was extraordinary;
like the morning grass of an average autumn,
covered in dewdrops of soulful abandon.
Like the top floor of a hotel car park
Where sunsets and stars are a silence away from your fingertips, 
as you lay against the concrete.
He was like all the thoughtless breaths of mankind 
that make up the wind as it whips against the loose ends of your hair.

He was undeniably remarkable;
like the brickwork walls of old houses
dotted with little round windows of golden lamplight. 
Like an old chipped mug filled to the brim with Earl Grey, 
a single drop of milk and another of chaos, but no sugar.
He was like a simple brown pebble,
just the right shape to skim heartbeats through a lake,
covered in algae and awe.

He was really something special;
like a dandelion poking through pavement cracks,  
holding up the earth with its roots
outside someone else's window.
Like an umbrella that was lost and found again,
the fabric tearing off from the pointy bits but 
still keeping you dry every day of an English summer.
He was like rolling chimney smoke that took to the sky 
and greeted the clouds like family.