6.2.1986 #2/age 16

      Everything is so sacred:
      the pictures will fade from the sun
      which shines on them, but misses me.
      I miss it.

      You always said you could picture me
      basking in the middle of a field
      basking in the sun.
      No more.

      If you only knew
      how much grief and sorrow I'm keeping
      inside as not to lose it, it's all I have.

      I love you,
      as strange as it may seem, I love you more, now that
      you're gone.
      If someone before would have joked about you dying, I'd have shivered.

      vBut you're dead, no joke,
      and I'm freezing.

© 1986/2001