I'm listening to: Our Lady Peace - Somewhere Out There

I wish you didn't have to leave so soon. I miss you so much my heart aches. I'm still expecting you to appear at the door, or to be sitting around at home.

I don't know where you've gone, or if you've simply ceased to exist in the most technical sense of the word. I hope the former is true, so I might get to see you again. All who are born die. It's an axiomatic fact of existence yet it hardly offers any comfort. It doesn't even begin to account for why some have more time than others.

The short time you've been here, I hope you enjoyed yourself. Though I've shown very often, I've never said it directly to you and you probably wouldn't have understood, but you know anyway that I've always loved you very much; we all did. I can never again have the comfort of your companionship but I won't ever forget how much it meant to me. I regret not having the opportunity to bid you one last farewell, although circumstances weren't in my favour to do so.

You've gone, one step ahead of me, into the great unknown. From where I'm left behind, you've opened a window for me to understand it from a different perspective. I've learnt that it isn't as gothically horrific as I'd previously imagined. You turn its mystery into something beautiful, where the sadness finds its source in the premature ability to comprehend all of this.

I'm still writing about you now, and it means the essence of your being is forever immortalized in the hearts and minds of those who loved you, as well as in writing. Your life is a thread in the greater fabric of the universe, like how its end is part of a greater scheme. It's something I may never come to fully understand but will always believe in. I can't say it wasn't a terrible shock, but things fell in place pretty neatly following the terrible accident, and that I'm grateful for.

I will never forget you. Thank you for having been in my life.

Goodnight and goodbye, my dear.




Charity and gratitude
They run to the pines
It's black in here, blot out the sun
And run to the pines
Our misery runs wild and free
And I knew, the fire and the ashes of his grace