For My Dearest Friend

A Collection of Writings by Kenneth J. Sliviak

Written and dedicated to the Life and Memory of

Scott Anson Roberts

Table of Contents

Introduction

What follows is a collection of works that I wrote during the life of and shortly after the death of my best friend Scott Anson Roberts. No words can describe how I felt about Scott and the way his death affected my life forever. However, these works I feel do justice is describing how one person who was touched by Scott's life dealt with and made sense of such a great loss.

List of Illustrations

My friend Scott Anson Roberts drew all four of the illustrations that appear in this book. I have placed the pictures where I felt they would compliment my written works. I wish to let the pictures speak for themselves and aid in telling Scott's tale. The names of the pictures are as follows.

Part 1

The Life

A Friend Is 

Commitment -- Commitment is very important between friends. Both parties have to be loyal to each other if the friendship is to last. You have to be there for each other and stay though thick and thin. When darkness comes before you only together can you last.

Understanding -- To understand each other is often the hardest part of all. It is give and take almost everyday and that is how it has to be. Taking turns to help the other and being able to see the faults is often the greatest test of friendship and understanding can be the greatest quality.

Patience -- Remember we are only human and as imperfect as they come. Every one of us has our faults and you have to work them out. Sometimes things just don't go our way, or they just go to slow, but remember that good things happen to those who wait, so learn to stick things out.

Surprising -- Sometimes things come in disguise good and bad can fool us both. Most likely it is the object before us that is hidden from our view. Take time to look at everything and determine what it is worth. Everything has its value all you have to do is look.

Scott: a description

My friend Scott was a gentle giant. He stood about five feet seven inches tall and was well built. He was not overweight, but he was built tough. He could use his strength if he had to and believe me he was strong, but most of the time he was docile. Perhaps the funniest thing about Scott was his feet. He wore a size nine shoe, that is not that small of a shoe, but for Scott and the rest of his body that was a tinny foot. His legs were strong and covered with hair, just like his head. His arms were like his legs, but Scott's hands are what I remember the most. I remember that every time I came over Scott was sitting down and doing something with his hands. Scott was always drawing, painting, or making something out of cardboard, tape and scrap wood. Scott's hands were hard working hands, strong and gentle at the same time. His hands were great for grabbing and shaking and the occasional hug. On the ring finger of his right hand Scott wore a thin metallic grayish blue ring made of Hematite. This ring fit that finger perfectly, thanks to the medical tape wrapped around the bottom a few times to keep it from falling off. This ring not only looked good, but it was practical to, it relieved stress and headaches.

We all knew about the scar that ran almost the full length of Scott's chest, but we just ignored it. It hurt to think about that scar. That scar was the reminder of Scott's fatal flaw, his heart. Scott did not have a weak heart, although the doctors would argue that point. I have never known a heart so open and caring. Next to his hands, Scott's heart was his strongest asset. Around Scott's neck hung the Celtic cross and a small leather bag of rocks. The hematite ring, Celtic cross, and bag of rocks were always with Scott especially near the end. Scott only removed these three items when he bathed, other than that time they were always part of him. The other thing that I remember about Scott's neck is what you would not find around it, a tie. For some reason Scott hated wearing ties, and shirts with collars. In Scott's entire wardrobe only one shirt had a collar and he never wore it.

Scott's mouth was always in a smile and the smile went well with his eyes, a perfect light blue. I believe Scott's hair is how most people will remember him physically. For as long as I can remember the hair was pulled back into a ponytail. More recently however the long hair went away and became a very short buzz cut, quite a radical change but like all things Scott did the change in hairstyle had its reasons.

For My Dearest Friend

When I look back at all the people that I have ever met, my fondest memories are of you. Ever since the day I met you, you have always been a friend to me, and all the help you have given me can never be repaid.

You have always been there when I needed you, for anything at all. Anytime I had a question, you always knew what it was, and the answer was always waiting, all I had to do was ask.

When my life was like the raging sea, and I would fonder upon the shore, you were there just like a lighthouse to help me on my way. Any problem I had I could turn to you, no matter how large or small. You would always know just how I felt and always knew what to say.

Words can't describe all the times you've helped me along my way. When I didn't know whom to turn to I could always count on you. No matter what the problem was you always listened to me. Of all my friends and family, you are the one I trust the most.

It's true you've helped me through my darkest times and now you're facing some yourself. I only hope I can be there for you like you were there for me. If I could accomplish anything in life, do anything in the world, I would want to be as good a friend, as good as you are to me.

At times I feel I owe you my life, you have helped me through so much. With your strength and perseverance is why I look up to you.

I know we will always be there for each other, and together we will make it work. These darker times before us are one more we must face. We will face the storm together as we have for all this way.

Part 2

July 8-11, 1998 

July 8^th 1998

July 8^th 1998, I remember the day well, it is a day I can never forget no matter how hard I try; it is the day my world ended, the day my closest friend died. To this day I can still feel and remember the dreadful silence in his home when I stayed with his family throughout those dark and troublesome days, silence that was so still no one dared to speak, to move for fear of breaking the silence, the only sound heard was the occasional cry of his dog as yet another friend or relative came to the door. Those dreadful days are forever etched in my memory. July 11^th, Scott's funeral, oh how I resented that day. Throughout the entire ordeal I refused to believe that all of this was real. I refused to admit to myself that my closest friend, the only person I have ever loved was gone. While I slowly folded the Scottish flag and handed it to his mother I still refused to believe that I was performing this solemn act for Scott's funeral. As I slowly carried the casket I still refused to believe that in this grim wooden box was my friend. When the casket was placed in the back of the Hurst I could not let go, for in that wooden casket I finally saw my friend, the times we shared, the times we never will have, I saw the four best years of my life, and at that moment I could refuse the truth no more.

I Stood on the Edge

Running to where I did not know, I did not care, but as I caught glimpses of places as I raced past them I knew very well where I was headed. I was running to you, at least to where you used to be, and where I hoped you still were. I was running to your home.

Suddenly I stopped running as quickly as I started. Now I knew where I was going, but I did not want to, could not go there, not today. I looked around me and saw where I was, not far from your home. I looked below me and noticed that I was standing, standing on a bridge.

Yes on a bridge is where I stopped. Not a large bridge, yet still a bridge. It was about twenty feet long, and a good ten to twelve feet to the bottom, at least fifteen feet from the railing. The railing, yes the cold long piece of cylindrical metal. Slowly I wrapped my hands around it as I stared down into the abyss.

This bridge on which I stood spanned a small creek, which now ran near dry. All that lay beneath me was a solid cement creek bed and a large pipe. I stared down at this scene below me, cement and pipe below me, below this bridge on which I stood.

As I gazed upon the sights below I tried to sort and make sense of all that had happened. It could not have been more than ten minutes since I left the book store, ran to the church, left the church, ran who knows where and finally ended up here, on a bridge wondering why I was on a bridge.

Behind me was a steady flow of traffic, which I ignored. I just stood there wondering to myself why. In my mind I cried out and cursed every spirit and god I could think of. Yelling and cursing at the gods I threw a fit on this bridge. I was sad, angry, fed up, even flat out pissed at the gods or what you will for taking you away. So great was my rage against the gods for what they did to you, what they did to me, that I refused to move, refused to budge from this bridge until the gods themselves heard me and justified their wicked game.

Why? Why? Why? I cried out. Why you? Why now? What has he done to deserve this? He has done nothing wrong. You made a mistake. Lie, lies, all lies. It is not true. It can't be true. Hear me now and listen. Answer me. Answer me now. I defy you all of you that ever were! Hear me!

You arrogant beings of divine goodness, Ha! I defy, no I mock you. Heresy is the words of your prophets. You dare take one of your creations, one that was good and true and destroy it on the verge of its greatness. Why? What cause do you have? You call yourselves compassionate?

How dare you take one that is good and leave one that is wicked. You dare take a life, a good life and end it when the life of anger and rage lives on. How dare you. Why create a loving follower, near perfect creature just to kill it? What cruelty. Here before you a creature for former darkness created not by you, no formed of evil stands. I bastard child of carnal lust, wanton slut and drunken letch am to live? Why damn it why?

Answer me! Why don't you respond! Are you truly so helpless that mortal mouth can whip you to silence? Ha, where is your greatness now?

I, mortal, stand here now begging, no not beg. I will not beg to you, nor kiss the ground you walk on. You are not worthy of my groveling, so I spit on your feet. I demand that you hear me! Why I ask, why him not me? After all that I have done and wished upon others, why am I to live? Take me now and send him back. If you truly are so great you can do this. All I ask is send him back. He can do more good than me.

I looked once more over the creek bed and my eyes caught the edge of the pipe. My mind could not help but wonder if I should fall from this bridge and hit my head on that pipe, or the cement for that matter what would happen? Would I die? Would I live? Would someone in one of those cars behind me help me? Surely someone would see me go over.

Two friends, one day, hours apart. Who could ever wonder? I placed my left foot upon the railing. Your funeral would be soon. I tried to think of everyone who would be there. Friends, family, numerous lives you touched, as numerous as the stars in the twilight sky.

I thought about myself then, if our roles had been reversed. If I were dead and you alive, who would mourn for me? I thought of friends and family and those I loved so dear, and I thought of you my dearest friend who I never could let down.

I took my foot off of the railing and my hands released their grip. I turned away from this bridge and returned to the church to retrieve my coat and favorite hat, which I had abandoned in my flight. I called home and waited patiently for someone to bring me home, and as I waited I saw your family and at that moment they saw me. Darting across the busy street I instinctively ran to them. As the four of us returned to your home hardly a simple word was said, and the only sound that broke the silence was a steady click, click, click, click, click, clop.

I don't know why I wrote this down, it was just something I had to do. Looking back I know the fall would not have killed me, and chances are I would have lived. I stood on the edge that fateful day and stared at the jaws of death. For the Reaper's cold touch I was yearning, and for the release I thought it would give. Right now I'm glad I walked away, there is so much that I would have missed.

Death is cruel, but before our lives are through there is one task that we must do. Now mine is just beginning, so I have a lot of life to live. I have learned that life is unpredictable, we can't tell what fate will deal. I am taking life day by day to do what I must do. When my time comes I will not run, for I fear not the other side. I have stood at the edge of the jaws of death and awaited the final fall, but in the end my walking away is my greatest victory of all.

The Flag

T

H

R by

E

E

F I V E

Yellow, golden color.

Sun's warmth and

glow from fabric

snapping in the breeze.

Lion,

rampant in red.

Defiance.

Freedom.

Such a flag I knew.

A story it had.

Long yet short.

Begun, ended to quick.

Unfinished.

This flag was yours the Scottish flag. Hanging outside your home by the front door, unless it rained in which case it hung inside. Its presence was always.

This flag was a symbol of you. Your families past, pride, soul was reflected in that flag. Never a shame to fly it. Never a shame to love it, and the country and family who flew it.

This flag was a beacon. When I came to visit the flag was there. A sign that I was at my destination, and always welcomed here at my home away from home.

This flag was draped across your casket, as we all gathered for one last look, goodbye. This bonnie yellow flag with lion rampant red was there. Mouth open, paws out guarding you. The lion listened as we whispered one last prayer, our final farewell. The lion watched as letters and notes were placed by your side.

The lion and yellow field were near me as I said my last goodbye. They heard my prayer of sorrow and final promises to you. The flag was there to watch me as I stole one last kiss from your cold yet noble brow. The lion watched in silence as I gave you my ring and placed it upon your hand.

The lion stood as sentinel all through out the day. Jaws open, paws outstretched as he watched over you. Did it change that Scottish flag as we all had that fateful day? Did the lion rampant turn from savage to a sob? Was that a tear in the lion's eye as his roar became a cry of hidden pain? Were his paws reaching out as we all were, reaching for one last touch, one last hope that none of this was real? Outstretched in defiance that you son, brother, and friend were gone.

I folded this flag at your funeral, that hardest thing I've ever done. I watched as slowly the lion rampant red hid his face and yellow fields formed a steady triangle. The movement stopped and I made that last fold of this your beloved Scottish flag. I tucked the ends good and tight, a token to your past.

I placed the flag under my arm and slowly walked across the room. I stopped before your family and looked your mother in the eyes. I stood there, golden flag from my hands to hers. Silent and helpless I watched as her tears mixed with mine on your Scottish flag with fields of golden yellow, and lion rampant red.

The Table

There they stayed on a tabletop. Eight objects in all. A pica in the middle; two vases, one on each end of the pica; four apples, two on each side of the handle; and flowers. I hate flowers.

You search for sensuality, I say it does not exist. Even if it did, it would not exist here, at least not for me. You have flowers on the table. I hate flowers. These flowers are dark and wilting, in an era past their prime. Your flowers are dying, waiting for their time to come. I hate your flowers, for they are just like me.

The last time I saw flowers, oh I wish I could forget that fateful day in early July, the day my best friend died. That room was full of flowers, flowers of every shape and size. Hundreds of flowers of various bright colors surrounded the pine casket. The smell, oh the worst of all! The scent of hundreds of sweet flowers wafted through the air and mixed with the smells of a large pine box and millions of salty tears. I've always disliked the smell of flowers, and my stomach turned that day.

I say there is no sensuality, at least not here for me. You need to have senses for sensuality. You can't feel sensuality if you know only pain. So, thank you for bringing flowers, the wretched growth I despise to see. Thank you for bringing flowers, and making me re-live these memories. Thank you for bringing flowers, but next time leave them at home.

The Quest

I ran as fast as I could to where I did not know, but I ran. I ran as fast as I could until I could run no more. Across busy streets, over fences, through fields I ran. They said that you were gone, I won't believe them. I ran to the church, where I stopped to cry, and over and over I asked myself why. I looked for you in the church, but you were not there, so where did you go?

Your room was the same as when I last saw it. Nothing had changed. The swords were still on the wall, comics on the desk, sci-fi figures on the bookcase, all were there. I sat on your bed and looked around. It was all here, everything but you. I looked under the bed and in the closet, and then throughout your entire house. I searched every where a person could hide, but you were not there, so where did you go?

The small boat rocked side to side as it jumped over each new swell. I paddled in a frantic rhythm, never slowing down. Closer and closer to the shore I came, but still I accelerated. As fast as I could I raced towards shore, and the grinding sound of rocks tearing at the hull seemed to ease my nautical rage. I climbed to the tops of the mountains, forded rivers and streams, climbed clay cliff walls and followed the clouds as they raced across the sky. I searched the wilderness and ends of the earth, but you were not there, so where did you go?

I fell on my bed and tried not to cry, but instead of needed rest I found only grief. I held the tears back one by one, but in the end my sorrow won. Slowly and surely I drifted away and once more was claimed by the realm of dreams. I tried to think of the good times, the moments we shared, yet all I could think of was our future unlived. I searched my dreams, but you were not there, I have not found you anywhere, so were did you go?

I went to the church with all your friends and together we shared a moment of grief. The songs were cruel, they cut to the heart and readings were read, and all about you. The time dragged on and it seemed like a year, but it all was like a dream. Nothing that day felt like reality, and the memories drift in and out of conciseness like a dream. I sat in the church and I could not cry, my tears were all gone my soul and heart so beaten that I was unaware of the reality around me. I was immune to life. I sat in the church and I found you there, lying in that wooden box. I looked in the box and I found you there, so what do I do now?

Part 3

Reflections

Lone Wolf Brother Crow

Darkness, the color of night, a void sickening in appearance teeming with life, seldom heard, rarely seen, presence ever felt.

Footsteps, slowly one by one, scuffing, dragging, heavy like lead. Tears, tiny capsules of emotion. Each tiny salt drop of mournful pain rolled from the eyes to the snout, matting fur and covering tiny whiskers in shimmering droplets. Drooping tail and head hung low. Back and forth the body swayed in a drunken rhythm.

Alas poor Beta with heavy heart, we know your grief so well. The Alpha is dead, gone from this world; the torch is left for you. You walk this trail to the jagged cliff's edge, only sorrow pilots you.

Rocks, smooth dark forms of solid earth, joined, connected forming a charn, pile, no neither or none of these. Tiny orbs of powerful earth formed a monolith of grief, the soul reminder, evidence of the unreal, unthinkable truth, thrown of the superior lord of life, death. A grave.

Wolf stared at the monolith in terror. With every passing moment, every breath Anger filled the broken shattered heart. Wolf regarded the structure with hate.

Lips curled back, fangs exposed, eyes fixed as claws flexed, hair raised. Saliva foamed in venomous rage as Wolf raced through the underbrush and charged the stone testimony to a horrid power.

Forrest to thicket, thicket to brush, brush to clearing. On ward charged Wolf though forest, thicket and brush.

Stopping. Soft feet dug into the dark earth. Sliding, slipping Wolf slowed. Back arched in fear, tail dragging jaws agape. No sound was made, sound could not be made for sorrow has no voice.

Circle once, twice, thrice, concentrically soft side steps in a tight spiral turning ever turning towards the grave. Grave, grave, oh wicked Death who keeps your love from thee. Movements grow ever closer, yet they want to run away.

Snout, cold, wet, salt tear stained slowly nudges the monolith of stone. Snout to stone touches in realization of the truth. Cursed Death and your cold cruel games. I defy you here and now!

Paws kick, head rocks in rage, defiance to the specter Death. Stone takes flight as foot and snout destroy this monument of death.

Was once a marker to the death is now a bed in which to rest. Sleep, oh peaceful sleep comes onto you now. Pain fades away, hurts no longer stay, sleep has claimed you now.

Young Beta sleeps in agony, broken heart to mend, soul to comfort, life that must be lived.

Howling wind sings through the trees, a mystic song of old. Wolf at cliff's edge stands looking down into the dark ravine. Jagged rocks lay far below, a quick and certain death. Beta sat up poised to jump, but lacked the strength to die. The body sank in sorrow wanting this all to end; the head fell down on to folded paws, the Beta stopped and cried.

Up in the trees fluttering wings and a squawking voice silenced now the wind. Beta looked up and saw a crow staring back at him. The crow did speak,

"Why grieve you now young Beta wolf as you stare into the black abyss? Why do you wish to end your life by leaping from this cliff?"

The Beta just sat there helplessly for in his sorrow could not speak. He just sat there staring hoping Crow could understand. Crow spoke again,

"Fear not my brother as you move on, move onward with your life. True I am gone, yet even Death can not keep me from your side. I am still with you every day, although in spirit and not in flesh. I am still here for you when you need me, so you need not run away.

"My voice carries upon the wind, my spirit in a crow. The body dies while the soul lives on, so in truth I haven't left. Brother you can't stop living because you can not hold me close. My path is done, but yours goes on and follow it you must."

Eyes flicker open and strain to stay awake. Weary head lifts off tired toes as a feather landed on Beta's nose. The black crow's feather shimmered in the light, a solemn reminder that all was right.

Beta got up and left his bed, the stone pile of the dead, and headed off into the woods leaving all behind. Above in the trees was a cawing sound, the calling of a crow. Together they went off into the great unknown, Beta and Alpha, Wolf and Crow, living and dead.

A Life Worth Living?

Actions speak louder than words, one's deeds determine one's worth.

My friend you had a life worth living, for never did you wrong. Patience and understanding were virtues you possessed. You were always able to work things out and knew the proper thing to do. Friend, confidant, brother, and son, you were all of these and now you're gone. Yes my friend, yours was a life worth living.

I think of you and I look at me and at times I want to cry, for yours was a life worth living and I'm wondering is mine?

Born the bastard son of an evil act, that's how I came to be. When I learned of this I grew wicked, and all involved should die. Wicked would destroy evil, and everything would turn out right? Vengeance was my life force, my course of action governed by hate.

That's how you found me a monstrous fool who wanted no pleasures from life. You had a life worth living, and vengeance, vengeance was mine.

You helped me turn on my evil ways, in you was the good of life. When I was sure my quest would fail you sent me out again. You made me what I am today, a debt I can't repay.

When I was lonely, helpless and full of fright, and I ran and hid from the terrors of night, you were there. You were my strength and courage. With you by my side I could do anything, no fear could hold me back.

When I was worried, confused, and needed to talk, but I didn't know what to say, and didn't know where to turn, you were there. You where there with your willing ear. No matter what the problem, no matter how long it took, you were always there to help me when I needed you.

When I was knocked to the ground by a wicked foe and my pride more hurt than me, you where there. You were there to pick me up. You were there to calm me down. You were there to keep me safe from the darker side.

You made me what I am today. My life I owe to you. All the good that is in my life happened because of you.

You gave me the courage to move on, move onward with my life. I changed for the better, and with your help did things I've never dreamed. I stuck things out through thick and thin because you would not let me fail.

You were my life, and with out you I find it hard to go on. Yours was a life worth living, and when you died so did I. Now that you're gone is when I need you the most. Yours was a life worth living, and with out you I've lost mine.

I've got a demon on my shoulder, dead man 'round my neck. One tells me to do something that the other won't stand. I'm so confused they both sound so true. I have a demon on my shoulder and a dead man 'round my neck.

This demon sits on my shoulder and whispers in my ear. He says, "I know you loved him, it's okay to rage. Give in to your anger, don't you dare hold it back. It wasn't the heart that killed him; it was science you know. They knew the problem was there all along, no one really cared. They said they did their best, all that they could do. Don't you hear a word of that 'cause you know what's true!" I've got a demon on my shoulder speaking of the dead man 'round my neck.

Now the dead man he does speak to me each night as I dream. He says, "Don't give in to the hatred, that's no life to led. You've walked that trail some years ago and don't you turn back. Keep right on the path you walk and never do stray. I know at times it's mighty hard and you feel you should quit. Remember the way that you once were, or is that who you are?" The dead man 'round my neck he leads the path that I'm on.

The demon turns and talks to me and says, "Don't you turn soft. Your friend is dead, just let him go. I know what's best." I know the path the demon walks; it's one that I once walked to. That line I never want to cross again, yet I'm drawn ever close. I know the demon is evil, but at times I don't care. It seems as I wonder every day, but I'm going no where. I've got a demon on my shoulder and he's leading me astray.

I once ran to the dead man every day. No matter what my problem was he would never turn me away. He was the one I counted on for every thing, but now he's gone and I am left just wondering.

This demon on my shoulder, I've think that I've seen him before. Yes I know this demon he is the one I once was. Once I faced this demon and I thought that I'd won, but instead of slaying evil I just lost my best friend. I've got a demon on my shoulder and a dead man 'round my neck.

The dead man has a softer voice and says, "Be not afraid. don't you know that I'm by your side every day. You're weak because you're hurting; yet you shouldn't grieve. Your spirit's strong, and heart is true. That is all that you need. Just keep walking the trial you are no harm will come to you. Once you are determined you have nothing to fear." I've got a demon on my shoulder, but it’s the dead man that I hear.

I'd like to take the demon off my shoulder and just leave him behind. He says, "You can not get rid of me I am what you are." At times I lack the strength to fight because I know he is right. I want to leave the demon, yet it all seems to hard. Even if I could finally go now tell me where would I run? I've got a demon on my shoulder and he just won't jump off.

The demon or the dead man; I know I must chose. I know that one is evil and he gets me no where. No matter where I am running he is always one step behind. I keep hoping every morning that someday I'll find a place where I can live my life with no demons inside. I'll lose that demon on my shoulder and keep the dead man 'round my neck.

Who Wants To Live Forever?

An Essay About Life Inspired by the song "Who Wants To Live Forever?" Produced and Performed by the group Queen.

Who wants to live forever? I ask this everyday. Who wants to live forever? What is forever anyway?

Who wants to live forever?

I did. Forever by your side, just were I belong. Together for eternity. We were always there for the other, forever friends were we.

I once liked forever, but now I've grown to hate forever, and I hate it more every day. Forever was once so promising, and now is darker than the night. Forever is darker than the deepest depths; it is the darkness that keeps you from me.

Who wants to live forever?

Forever I say I don't!

Once my heart was full of life, my reason for life was my love for you. I would give up my heart or anything if I could bring you back. Nothing in this world means more to me, than you my dearest friend.

Once I had a dream. I had a dream of the life that I would like to live. We had plans set for our future, a future that never was. Now this future can never be for you my friend are gone.

I've set those dreams aside. I've set them aside in their own little box, right next to the one for the times we used to share. I'll take these boxes whereever I go so you will always be right next to me. These dreams we had I will cherish for all time. I'll lock them up and swallow the key so no one can take those dreams from me. Oh, once I had dreams.

Once I knew love. Once I knew love and I could live. You told me that I all had do was give my very best. You told me that it really didn't matter what anybody thought, just as long as I remembered just exactly who I was.

The day you died my heart did break, and I prayed that all of this was a dream and soon I would awake, but I was wrong. I tried and tried as hard as I could to find the truth that none of this was real, but I searched in vain. I'll never forget the weight of that box, and the way that my hands trembled when I folded that yellow flag. I pray that I may never love again, because I just can't stand to suffer through another loss, not after you. Oh, once I knew love.

Who wants to live forever I ask myself, because I see no good in eternity. They say that time can heal a broken heart, but right now time is not my friend. I'll probably spend the rest of my life just thinking about you and what it would be like if things had happened differently. I'll ask the questions, but never find out because no one has the answers I'm looking for.

Who wants to live forever?

I tell you I don't, and right now forever is all the time you have. When my time comes I'll see you again and forever is the life that we will share, but until then time is not my friend, for time is all that is keeping you from me.