Dear, old friend,
I feel old without you;
While life beats slower each passing day,
With nothing ever new and nothing on the way.

I've grown weary with the predictable paterns of life,
Which you deliberated against,
And made bounding leaps to the rarely visited vegas of existence:
          Journeys we would often make together.

What memories do you forget of me,
And what memories did you create since?
And is it worth it to live and fulfill this epic narrative?
Your life does not have to be like a tragedy;
Always sorrowful and hanging in suspense.

I can pick you back up, old friend;
I'll pick you back up again.