#01245

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Rule 1 : Ambitious aspirations often lead to disappointing realities:

You know when you're both on the same page, envisioning this incredible future together? Sounds pretty awesome, right? But then, reality throws a curveball. External factors start messing with your plans—different viewpoints, unexpected twists, the whole deal plus a shebang and all that jazz including everything in the nine yard. And trying to balance your dreams while also keeping the relationship afloat? It's like walking a tightrope. Eventually, you notice they're not as enthusiastic about your dreams as they once were. It hurts. A lot. Like, really, really hurts. But hey, gotta stay true to your own path, even if they're not on board anymore.

[spockeveryday]

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I still think about you more often than I’d like to admit. It doesn’t hurt as much anymore.

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How could I be so naïve as to have hope?

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i still do.

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When I first set out to write this book, I had no idea where the journey would lead me. It began as a collection of memories, a way to capture moments that had once been my life. I wanted to preserve them, to make sense of them, and perhaps, in doing so, find some measure of peace. But as the words began to take shape on the page, I realized that this book was not just a reflection of my past—it was a testament to the hope I still carry for the future.

-r.r. witty

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REST NOW WITTY In the heart of our gathering, we honor a spirit so bright, Witty, a dreamer, who saw the world in its light. His words flowed like a river, sometimes lost in a mumble's haze, Yet his thoughts soared like eagles, in swift, intricate arrays. An artist of the soul, he sketched a woman's grace, A thousand attempts he made, but never found her face. "I can't capture perfection," he'd sigh and then begin, A testament to his spirit, unyielding, refusing to give in. He sought to master the strings, like Picasso with his brush, Or Vincent van Gogh, whose "Starry Night" does blush. He admired Michelangelo, who carved the stone with might, In their shadows, Witty dreamed, under the same moonlight. His poems, in his tongue, sang of moonlit nights, Of love declared in plazas, of heart's purest delights. A life of hurdles and strife, yet lived with such grace, A vibrant tapestry of colors, his existence did trace. He wept, unafraid, when pain pierced his heart, A man who faced consequences, willing to restart. In Witty's story, Shakespeare would find a friend so dear, A narrative of love, loss, and dreams that held him near. In the end you died broken and hopeless, but now you are free, Although, Witty, you are part of me. Together, in this moment, we bury the author of this elegy, In a place known only by you and me. Your spirit lives on, forever free.