I Wish There Were A Class Where

I Moved His Hair Out Of His Face. I Put My Hand Under His Nose And Felt Gentle, Even Breaths. I Pressed My Lips Against His Ear And Whispered Again, It’s Not Your Fault. Perhaps This Was Really The Only Thing I Had Ever Wanted To Say To Anyone, And Be Told.

I Knew The Beginning And The End – I Just Had To Dream Up A Convincing Middle.

It Was A Small Thing, But It Was A Thing, And Things Have A Way Of Either Dying Or Growing, And It Wasn’t Dying.

Look At The Sky: That Is For You. Look At Each Person's Face As You Pass Them On The Street: Those Faces Are For You. And The Street Itself, And The Ground Under The Street, And The Ball Of Fire Underneath The Ground: All These Things Are For You.

What A Terrible Mistake To Let Go Of Something Wonderful For Something Real.