If You Could Be Happy, Really Happy,

Every Life, Every Love, Every Action And Feeling And Thought Has Its Reason And Significance: Its Beginning, And The Part It Plays In The End. Sometimes, We Do See.

If You Make Your Heart Into A Weapon, You End Up Using It On Yourself.

But I Smiled, And Smiling Was Easy, No Matter How Strange And Disorienting The Street Seemed To Be. I Was A Fugitive. I Was A Wanted Man, A Hunted Man, With A Price On My Head. And I Was Still One Step Ahead Of Them. I Was Free. Every Day, When You're On The Run, Is The Whole Of Your Life. Every Free Minute Is A Short Story With A Happy Ending.

The Touch Was Exactly What The Touch Of A Lover's Hand Should Be: Familiar, Yet Exciting As A Whispered Promise. I Felt An Almost Irresistible Urge To Take Her Hand And Place It Flat Against My Chest, Near My Heart. Maybe I Should've Done It. I Know Now That She Would've Laughed, If I'd Done It, And She Would've Liked Me For It. But Strangers That We Were Then, We Stood For Five Long Seconds And Held The Stare, While All The Parallel Worlds, All The Parallel Lives That Might've Been, And Never Would Be, Whirled Around Us.

I Think That We All, Each One Of Us, We All Have To Earn Our Future.