Your little light keeps showing up. So powerless, but it blinds me. You were there again, last night, in my mind's nightly projections. Or whatever the hell they are. You said the same things you used to, your brain was open the way it used to be. I even laughed, the way you'd make me laugh. I wonder how it happened. How you became who you are now. You know, people have told me, this week specifically, that I've changed a lot since high school. So maybe you've seen me around and are wondering the same thing. We're strangers, like we swore we'd never be. My spirit flew so high, I'm so far. And yours belongs to Him, old Writings you live by. That's okay, it has to be. But the radio only played Iron and Wine, Amos, The Avetts, Jason, Jack today. It's November. Your hands must be getting really dry, I wonder if she knew that. Another December 10th will roll by, and what's lost will remain lost. Where, is the real question. The question that keeps being presented on those nightly projections. So many years, and I'm glad I finally understood the beauty of letting you go.