But It Was Important To Simply Be

I Thought Of All The Times We'd Been Together, How I Kept Coming Closer, Then Retreating, While He Stayed Right Where He Was. A Constant In A World Where Few, If Any, Really Existed.

He'd Always Had That Fearless Optimism That Made Cynics Like Me Squirm. I Wondered If It Was Enough For Both Of Us. I Would Never Know From Here, Though. And Time Was Passing. Crucial Minutes And Seconds, Each One Capable Of Changing Everything.

It Was Like Those Songs I'd Heard As A Child, Each So Familiar, And All Mine. When I Got Older And Realized The Words Were Sad, The Stories Tragic, It Didn't Make Me Love Them Any Less. By Then They Were Already Part Of Me, Woven Into My Conciousness & Memory

It's Always Been Hard To Call Myself A Writer. I Think A Part Of Me Still Thinks It's Too Good To Be True.

I Was Woundering What He Would Say, What Word Could Sum Me Up Right Then, When I Saw The Lights Come Across His Face, Blaringly Yellow, And Suddenly He Was Brighter, And Brighter, And I Asked Him What Was Happening, What Was Wrong. I Remember Only That Light, So Strong It Spilled Across My Shoulders, And Lit Up His Face, And How Scared He Looked As Something Big And Loud Hit My Door, Sending Glass Shattering Across Me, Little Sparks Catching The Light Like Diamonds, As They Fell, With Me, Into The Dark.