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I took a train to another town, a leafy side street full of sound surrounds your little piece of ground. Someone had grown flowers, given it a name but it could never be the same, your garden full of fire and flame. All we could do was watch you running free and wild. An Eve of life and laughter, the eternal child. Knowing that you came to live a life so rare cannot shape meaing from the air or make it easier to bear. With the conscience of a Judas, the demeanour of a saint you went through life unburdened by dark fears or complaint, or so it seemed to us who only watch and wait. He said 'Trying not to love you was trying not to breathe.' He knew that you were lying, you said you'd never leave. But I think you know and I think you see and I think you would be proud of the paths that I have chosen of the person I've become. And if you are there and if you recall then there's something here for you. I remember. Things always are and not how they seem, weep for the end yet still begin recalling all that might have been. And when the sun went down it smudged the sky, I think of you and I still cry. A thousand ways to say goodbye......
[This message has been edited by blakeh (edited 09-03-2002).]
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"Never apologize for your work. If it's the best you can do, there's nothing to be sorry about and if it's not, you shouldn't be exposing anyone else to it in the first place." –Brian Austin Whitney