Read it, She says with sly eyes and a caring voice, There is my choice, Be fine, pack your briefcase, hat, and pen, There is never a place to go, only a when, Don't walk up to the house and knock, You'll see only the girl with saddness in her little walk, You have choice, put away the pen, walk away with prideful sin, And never come back, But your tied to her heart and the type, So sit down and see what you write, But there is nothing. You stand in the doorway of other people's memories, Watching them sing and close your fist at the sight of weak knees, Grit your teeth and curse inside, But never let them see you cry, Old man you have too much pride, Take your notes and move onto the next room, Things I'll never do, always and forever, Stare with trivial eyes at a place I thought I had hidden. This is madness.