It's been three years since you left.
What were you like as a child?
Whom did you fall in love at first,
and what memories this old chest hides?

Your mom saying she gets by,
no matter how much you hate her... why?
Why is she so upset with you,
and why would she write she hoped to die?

Did everything she could, why wasn't that enough?
Wished better life for you... the times were rough.
Hoped your father's death would change you for the better?
Would have no idea if not for this latter.

It was almost half a century ago... in 1977

What were you back then? Twenty one?
On these black & white photos it seems you had fun.

Haha what is this, a love note from a guy on a bus?
He basically rejected himself, didn't even have to ask.

I see a young ******* these pages,
I side of you I never knew,
If not for this diary, I would never had a clue.
What poetry you loved, what dreams you had,
what you were like...

"I would die for love,
but I was born for life"

In a constant battle with chaos,
we hold to our sanctuary of order,
you know how the saying goes,
what doesn’t **** you, makes you stronger.

So we fight till our last breath,
sometimes feeling we can hold no longer.
There is no life without death,
when the time comes, you may have to draw a border.

Staying sane is a matter of practice,
it’s easy to lose it in a world so crazy.
First you need to be alive to understand what death is.
Only then and only maybe,

You find the beauty in a malice,
remember what you forgot,
you may drink a poison from friend’s chalice,
as long as you know who you are not.

Remember,

No form can force conformist’s norms,
on souls so strong such storms fall short.
No lie can live where truth’s the choice.
I know myself and I will rejoice!

Here we are,
standing on the edge of sympathy,
bound by irony,
divided in purpose.

You aim to climb the highest peak,
meaning is what you seek.
I want to see the skies painted in the dawn,
for in the morning, significance is reborn.

You pierced my slumber with your smile,
your brief presence reminded me it's been a while,
you got a style, a unique flair,
inimitable, quite rare.

You were a punk,
I had my way.
We painted a story,
in a world so grey.

You hung the plaid jacket,
gave up on heavy boots and spiky belt.
Now I see you dressed like that,
reminding me of how I felt.

You were laughing at my baggy jeans,
saying at least two people could fit in.
We stood on the edge of two cultures.
By all means,
it was all about what's within.

You would find it amusing,
knowing I remember lyrics from your favourite songs.
Wonder if you remember mine.
When my heart longs,
I play them from time to time.

In an attempt to remember the bad,
I fail so good.
No resentment, no bitterness at all.
From the broken memories, your love is all I recall.

You remember?
That bleak October, even the skies were crying.
You didn't pick up the phone,
your friend said you wanted to be alone.
Looking for you seemed at least worth trying.
So I took my bike and went in to the rain,
determined to find you.
I kept calling to no avail,
cruising the streets like a lunatic.
She finally broke the veil,
I shall find you by the creek.

And there you are, in a distance,
wearing your rebel clothes.
The only colour in that bleak land of sorrow
clouds pouring tears of despair,
the wind permeating the scene with wail of grey.

I approached, not a glance, not a word.
A vague memory eluding expression.
Next, I am holding your hand in a hall,
you lean on for a kiss.
I am to blame for the call,
knowing you're the girl I'm gonna miss.

"It was beautiful"