Every day, people fall in love;
Compose beautiful symphonies exalting the descent.
All I can hear is the somber echo of my own voice, reverberating in the air.
A piano key struck, the note sustained.

I can still see his hands on the keys, practiced and deliberate.
Mary Had A Little Lamb dropped my jaw.

I still don't understand why bad things happen to good people.
In time, he will be gone,
And even now, he is gone still.
Protecting me by hurting me.

Every day I live his death.
Every day I break my heart and tell him to stop scraping his knees.
Go slower.

He wrote me a letter: "Dear __, I know".
He stopped there, but I never could.
Nightmares of words that filled those pages.
He closed his chapter while I tried to write in the margins.

Please do not stop writing; finish that letter.
Tell me there, or in the space between our fingers. Tell me what need be told.
End the story, or start a new one, but please do not stop writing.