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 ofΒ 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.