You Bought Me Some Forks. And Knives.

Wherever You Will Go, I Will Let You Down, But This Lullaby Goes On.

She Took The Sun When It Came And The Rain The Same Way.

There Was Something Striking About A Single Key. It Was Like A Question Waiting To Be Answered, A Whole Missing A Half. Useless On Its Own, Needing Something Else To Be Truly Defined.

Then I'd Crawl Back Into Bed, Smelling Her All Around Me, And Tell Myself That Next Time, I Would Lock That Window. But I Never Did.

That Was The Hard Thing About Grief, And The Grieving. They Spoke Another Language, And The Words We Knew Always Fell Short Of What We Wanted Them To Say.