In South America, truck drivers are paid collossal amounts
of money, to deliver supplies between towns on
roads, no wider than the width of their trucks.

When you turned up on my doorstep that sunday in the rain,
your eyes told me before your lips did.

Sixty three hundred days is a long long time to wait for someone,
but I would do it all over again,
if it meant I could fall asleep in your arms one last time.

Next Autumn when the leaves turn rusty and fall from the trees,
I'll remember the afternoon we spent in Victoria park,
where you waded to the middle of the duckpond,
just because I said you wouldn't.

Your mother always told me when we stacked away the good china after Sunday lunch,
that your stubborness always got in the way of what was right.

You've been gone eight hours and still nobodies reminded me how difficult I can be at times.

Eight months later and everytime the phone rings I imagine your voice crackling down the line "come get me from the supermarket, I have sugar buns. "

Look on with saddened eyes,
like little pools of water,
and the thoughts in his head
are swimming like fish,
beneath the surface,
of his blue eyes.

"Little boy,
you're crying,
please don't be sad,
everything will be okay,
you'll see."
But those words in my ears,
sound hollow,
and insincere.
I know he didn't believe me.
But he won't say anything,
he'll just nod his head and try to not cry.

This little boy,
had an aloof quality,
but yet still when he said something,
it was always important.
He used his words wisely,
he was far older in his view on the world and people,
compared to other children,
he was an extraordinary child,
and the time I spent talking to him
was short.

And then something awful happened,

He had watched his father die,
right before his eyes,
and I watched too,
for I was with him when it happened,
yet I felt strangely detached from his world,
it was like I was not there,
but yet I was.

I saw this little boy,
crawl numbly over to his father,
and I saw him cry,
and he said
the most childish,
heart breaking sentence,
I have ever heard in my life,
"Wake up."
He knew his father was gone,
but that didn't prevent him from trying to pretend
that his father wasn't.

Flash forward many years.

I met the boy again,
just not in the way I had expected,
He was in the hospital,
dying.
He had turned to drugs when I was gone,
and he lost his way,
and I cried.
If I had stayed I could have prevented it,
and he wouldn't be dying.

But that little boy,
who still looked little even though he was much bigger,
his blue eyes looked saddened,
and sparkling with his old wisdom,
he knew it was his time,
and he told me,
"It's my time, don't pretend i'm not gone,"
and then he died.

That's when I woke up.

It was all just a dream,
i'm here in my bed
confused,
who was that boy?
what does my dream mean?
why would I dream of someone I didn't even know?

Now what always haunts me is,
his blue eyes,
that were as deep as the ocean
and as everlasting as the sky.
It is hard to forget,
those sorrowful eyes,
in my dream
of a boy who died too young,
and I don't know what
that could mean.