To Say That You Can't See Echoes

This Moment And This Chance, They Are The Same, And They Are Mine If I Choose Them,and I Do. I Want Them. Now And As Long As I Can Have Them They Are Both Precious And Fleeting And Gone In The Blink Of An Eye, Don't Waste Them. A Moment And An Opportunity And A Life, All In The Unseen Tick Of A Clock Holding Me Nowhere. My Heart Is Beating. The Walls Are Pale And Quiet. I Am Surviving.

I Think Of How And Why And What Happened And The Thoughts Come Easily, But The Answers Don't.

There Are No Words And There Is No Singing, But The Music Has A Voice. It Is An Old Voice And A Deep Voice, Like The Stump Of A Sweet Cigar Or A Shoe With A Hole. It Is A Voice That Has Lived And Lives, With Sorrow And Shame, Ecstasy And Bliss, Joy And Pain, Redemption And Damnation. It Is A Voice With Love And Without Love. I Like The Voice, And Though I Can't Talk To It, I Like The Way It Talks To Me. It Says It Is All The Same, Young Man. Take It And Let It Be.

But Love Is Different For Every Person. For Some It's Hate, For Some It's Joy, For Some It's Fear, For Some It's Jealousy, For Some It's Torture, For Some It's Peace. For Some It's Everything.

There Is Emotion In The Hug, And There Is Respect And A Form Of Love. Emotion That Comes From Honesty, Respect That Comes From Challenge, And The Form Of Love That Exists Between People Whose Minds Have Touched, Whose Hearts Have Touched, Whose Souls Have Touched. Our Minds Touched. Our Hearts Touched. Our Souls Touched. We Separate.