It was a cold, crisp February morning. The wind blew threw me and chilled my core. I wish the sun would come closer, I needed to be warmed up a bit. A good washing would do me good. I feel dirty from all that surrounds me.
It won't be long til I'm gone...
It's always so still. The quiet, deafening. I could go for some beautiful banjo twang right about now. That would encourage my soul a bit. Life has been pure and wholesome...to say the least. It won't be long till I'm gone.
Bare naked I am, to the windows of my soul. I stand here alone, wide open for all to see, letting all the bugs in to my soul. It won't be long till I'm gone. Peace will fall on me as I fall to pieces. Oh how time has past here, near me.
It's nice to have people over, making oneself feel useful again. It's been some time on this prolonging pursuit of the inevitable.
I remember Ms. Abrams pressing Mr. Abrams shirt before he headed out to the market. She would stand there all day singing to any bird that caught her fetching eye. The freshest lavender trail would follow her everywhere.
My visitors were kind and reminded me of some of the best years of my life. Many holidays and shared precious moments that no others have seen the likes of. Even if it were only for a moment, it was nice to be useful and wanted again.
Was it all a dream? I shall rest now...again...and forever. Thank You.
Special Thank You to
Whitney Diane
Anthony Bellemare
Travis McClure