Gary Schwarzinger

I am surviving. I wonder if it is just due to my instinct or because of my parents, but I am just survivng. I cook to make myself eat, I go to bed to make myself sleep, I get out to make myself smile. I am survivng, but I have not the slightest idea whatfor.
Everything just looks fine, just seems to be ok, life seems to be going on again, well "der Schein lügt". You can not be fine and well when there's nothing more left for you to live; when all which was valuable is gone with the wind, gone with the storm, with the hurricane, with the twister. Sometimes I just think about why I live, what do I seek in a world where there is no truth, where there are no promisses, where friends are not meant to "will be friends". In a world where you can suddenly be ...
I take regular showers, despite all the wounds and the bruises which hurt as if cutting through me. I am lost, cold and lonely. The more I socialize with people, the worse I miss her. I remember when I told her I had noone else but her, and she thought it was because I knew noone. Well she was wrong, way wrong. Now I understand how far she never knew all the way she told me she knew me too well. She still missunderstands my intentions,. I never mentioned it like this, maybe for she always broke the rules, for she never told what she was supposed to tell, she never let me know how she saw me.
That is true, I never really knew how she felt about me and how she saw me. A legend? A myth? A fairy tale? A short story? A thriller? A drama? A book to start to read and then to leave somewhere and never pick up again? A story for everyday of life? Or just another asshole?
Sometimes I believe to have figured out what has happened, which calms me down; I believe to know what is to do; I believe to have found out what we need. But then it all goes away and I am lost, cold and lonely; just left lost, cold, lonely and injured, deeply injured.
All the world seems to suddenly turn faster than ever, I feel dizzy, I feel confused, I feel down, I feel "the Pain": the pain of all pains, the pain which has no other source but pain, then pain which can only be caused and felt by humans.
The past month has changed me a lot, I am no more the same person as I was a few months ago. Now I am the old original Gary much more than I have ever been. I feel the challenge cutting through my head, I feel the pain penetrating through my bones, I feel violence sctratching on my skin, I feel the massacre of the centuries trying to cut my beating heart apart.
The worrier is there again.
Saturn, dear, I know you might need sometime with less me in your life, but the seperation is no good idea. I hear myself talking to her all day long. It is because of the nightmares, they have changed, but the same theme has been repeating everynight for some time now. After the other nightmare came out to be too close to the truth, I just can't ignore this one.
On one hand, I am trying to save myself (although I do not know why) and on the other I can't help being concerned about her. I keep listening to Richard Marx - maybe just because I am in no mood to change the cd in the player - and sometimes a song or a verse or some great part of the song suddenly seems to be lighting up, or it just seems to be telling my story.
Maybe we went on too fast, maybe we started something we were'nt ready to take, maybe we just needed much longer time, maybe we held on to it for too long, or too close or... I do not know, I just do not know what has happened to us, although I am trying to figure it out all the time.
I just wish I could tell her that I will always be there for her, that I beg her to come back to me as soon as she can afford it, as soon as it is no more painful to her.
I do have thousands of argument why it is not the way she wants to show it, why it is not what she thinks, and most of the arguments come from all what she has told me and has done during the past month, and the rest from all our time together. But, as she said too many times during this one month, the problem is that I know her, I know how she is when she does not want to listen to you. She would hear if you talk 40 hours nonstop, but she won't listen to a word of it, so she would not even know what you have talked about all along.
What am I to do? Will she ever be listening? How would it be in some time? Will she finally reason or will she be even less willing to listen?
I wish I could seek someone else's help, someone, who'd prefrably know and love her. But who cares about us now? Who would ever want to hear? Who does really know why we are meant to stay us?
Saturn, dear "hear me calling you!"

Roch Voisine - Un Océan de Peine

Un océan de peine
Et c'est ma vie qui saigne
Et voilà tout
Ce qui reste de toi
Et voilà surtout
Où je sombre sans toi
Un océan de peine

Il a fallu qu'on s'aime
Nos vies un peu moins vaines
Je voulais si peu
Sans doute un peu trop pour toi
Aujourd'hui tu vois
Doucement je me noie
Dans l'océan de peine

Il suffirait de si peu je crois
Juste d'un sourire venant de toi
Il suffirait qu'ensemble on y croit
Pour que se vide enfin et se vide à
jamais
Cet océan de peine
Où nos vies se démènent
J'oublierai si tu m'aimes
Cet océan de peine

Un océan de peine
Et c'est ma vie qui saigne
Et voilà tout
Ce qui reste après nous
Et voilà surtout
Où je sombre sans nous
Un océan de peine

Richard Marx - Until I Find You Again

Lately I've been trying
To fill up my days since you're gone.
The speed of love is blinding,
And I didn't know how to hold on.
My mind won't clear.
I'm out of tears.
My heart's got no room left inside.

How many dreams will end?
How long can I pretend?
How many times will love pass me by,
Until I find you again?

Will the arms of hope surround me?
Will time be a fairweather friend?
Should I call out to angels,
Or just drink myself sober again?
I can't hide, it's true.
I still burn for you.
Your memory just won't let me go.

How many dreams will end?
How long can I pretend?
How many times will love pass me by,
Until I find you again?

I'd hold you tighter,
Closer than ever before.
Yeah.
No flame would burn brighter,
If I could touch you once more,
Hold you once more!

How many dreams will end?
How long can I pretend?
How many times will love pass me by, until I find you again?
'till I find you again..

Gary Schwarzinger

So there it is, I can now understand what the nightmare was to mean; the very specific one, in which she would leave me while I am pragnant with our child, one of those I never dared tell anyone.
"Just break the nonsence off!" she would tell me, when I try to tell her about the baby. "It can't be and you know it."
In some, even after being convinced that there was a baby, she would say: "Then it can't be mine. A baby would never be mine unless I give birth to it." logical for a woman to say, but not all the truth.
But now I am really standing there in the middle of my nightmare. It is as if she keeps telling me: "why don't you wanna understand, there is no baby, even if there has been, no more." while I feel the new life inside me, our child. Exactly no other words to describe it than our child.
And I am having hell of a pragnancy, bad moods, bad appetite, bad days; pragnant with a child I do not know how to give birth to, how to bring up. A child I do love, but who would most probably never want to love me. In one of the nightmares, the child would eventually leave me to go look for her and the child would hate me for I let her leave.
Silly nightmares, silly. But at last they seem to have come true...

Gary Schwarzinger

So I saw her today.
I knew I would not miss it for the world when she'd come; so I had already pressed myself among all the people sitting on the bench eating when I heard the footsteps. My heart was just jumping out of my ribs, I knew it must be her; no matter how often all kinds of footsteps were to be heard from outside, I knew right away and those ones were to be hers and could not belong to anyone else, no way.
At first I was stoned, I could not move, untill she rushed inside, nodding at me, it felt like suddenly waking up after years of having been cursed. I jumped up and followed her; she was there, of course she was.
I made sure to look into her eyes carefully before hugging, I saw it, I saw her, I saw the life there again, and so I hugged her, I hugged her as tight as my arms could still hold on to someone. There came the feeling, there came the tears in my eyes, I wanted to say... I had a whole lot to say, I still do have the whole lot to say, for I could not say anything. She rubbed my back, or maybe she just rubbed my back, I could not realize exactly which because of my long thick coat.
I knew I had to let go, so I did.
From the moment on I behaved myself just like an idiot 14 year old boy who has fallen for his classmate and she is somehow not getting along with this new fact: his first love, and he is making such a fool out of himself. 14, the age with which we became friends, real good friends from the beginning, against all odds.
I let go, for I was afraid to burst out in tears, and just like a fool, I didn't want to cry in front of these people who see me everyday, somehow I alwys wanna give a happy image of myself, and it hurts everytime I have to tell someone that something bad has happened, or that I have a problem...
So I let go, but she knew, she understood, I saw it in her eyes,I saw it in her smile as she said: "Sometimes it's good to cry."
And instead of all what I wnated to tell her, instead of all the confessions and commitments I just said, I just simply said: "Yes, but not here."
It was too short, just too short. She slipped out of my hands, and we both know it.
In the Cafeteria, (I just followed her there because she wanted to drink coffee) I felt ashamed, awfully ashamed when she asked me if I would too drink coffee and I had to refuse. For the first time I felt ashamed that I could not eat. I so much loved to sit down and have a drink with her, but I couldn't, I did not want to make all those faces I have to make while eating these days, not in front of her, or worse, I did not want her to see my useless attempts to throw up after swallowing down.
I could not talk when she was drinking her coffee, I just watched, I watched her and triedto remember every little detail. Instead, we talk about unimportant matters, as unimportant as they could be. Yet it somehow hceers me up, the naked truth that she is talking to me and she istalking to me the way she'd be talking to me cheers me up as well as it warms my weak heart.
Weak or strong, I do not know anymore; I know I should be thankfull of how my heart stands on my side these days, especially after the two days, whenI forgot my tranquilizers at home and had only the Pranols.
She prefers to spend Saturday and Sunday alone, she said.
I hate to spend weekends on my own, she knows.
Especially when they are my only chance to spend time with her.
But my prayers have been answered, and I am thankfull for that. I know how sarcastic it should sound, an atheist saying prayers, but I did, to no god, but I did, oh yes I did...
I closed the door not to see her leave, maybe I supersticiously believe that I might get to see her again sooner if I don't see her leave, if I don't say goodbye.
On my way back I went to the supermarket; orange nectar and something light, in the hope that I might start eating, that I would next time not be so ashamed in front of her, that the next time, I might get the chance that we both talk, that anything might move foreward faster if I restart eating, sooner.
And it hit me again, guilt did hit me again on the way home: how could I do any harm to the most precious one I know: how could I, and what did I? If I'd known, there mighthave been a way to get out of this.
It hit me as if a giant stone would have fallen on me with such a velocity, that it took us both directly to the underworld.
Oh how I hate weekends on my own, I hate the time without her; the next I might start to feel jealous of all her other friends; funny, all what life can do to one, isn't it?
Funny how easily I could be really turned to the 14 year old boy who tries to find a way to tell his friend, she is no more just a friend, who tries to find a way to her, who does anything to get closer to her, but just can't bring outany words.

Let's say I am just being a stupid supid stupid young Schwarzinger, left on his own in a merciless world.

Gary Schwarzinger

The new attack is too strong, I get it this morning about 9 when I have to rush out of math to the WC. My case is getting as desprate as can be, I need to provide my body with what it needs, eating!
So in the lunch break I try it with a little salad anda very very small loaf of bread. I could never come up with the idea that what used to be my all time favorite, what I could eat as much as possible at any possible time, would be so hard to chew and swallow and could taste so...
Every time I looked at my fork, and I told myself: "You have to eat it Gary, you must survive!"
in the end, some parts of the salad and half of the bread was left, but the next time I went to the WC, I knew that the mission was accomplished for today, regardless of the uncomfprtable nauscious feeling I had in my stomach. The good thing is, I look and sound healthy; not that I should remember how I used to lookd before, but from the expression on others' faces, I assume that I shall look ok, and since my mother has not mentioned anything about my voice today, I again assume that I shall sound ok as well.

I just take out everything possible and crawl under my blanket when I come back. I can't get her out of my head no matter what. I ask myself the fatal question of wether I need her or I want her: do I want her because I need her or do I need her for I want her so badly?
I think, I think intensively about my last encounters with her and about what I would wish myself. I do schwarzingerly want her, most of my real needs in my life have been things I have wanted bad enough.
Yes, I want her.
I want to run my fingers in her now short cut pink died hair;
want to stare into her eyes.;
want to hold her in my arms as close as can be, so that there would stay, nothing, nothing, nothing at all between us;
want to listen to her telling me every possible kind of stories of her daily life;
want to watch her as she is trying to solve a physics problem she believes could be solved much easier than it is said;
want to smell her cooking;
want to listen to her when she talks passionately about the world;
want to see that sparkle in her eyes when she is plotting something in her mind;
want to hear her soft voice when she is trying to tempt me with a new idea and I know I would most probably be following her no matter where she takes me, just for I love to be tempted by her, even if it concerns bying a new cd you have no clue about;
want to have a serious talk with her about something unserious like cheese or the color of a new commercial banner;
want to feel the weigh of her head on my shoulder;
want to go shoping with her, even when all we need would be a normal pen;
want to enjoy her compliments when I am cooking for both of us;
want to dance with her with closed eyes so that none of us could mention the catastrophy we perform as two human bodies;
want to watch her as she drinks something whose taste she enjoys;
want to hold her hand in silence;
want to be the first reader of her stories and have her read all mines first;
want to listen to her telling jokes;
want to hear her laughter, all different kinds of it;
want to sing with her all possible songs we might both have in mind and make fun of how we might or might not be able to get the melody right;
want to admire trees with her;
want to take a walk with her, under the mellow spring rain, holding each other tight;
want to sing my first song to her, the one I wrote, the night she was leaving for Berlin;
want to hug her for more than 5 minutes;
I still want to live in with her someday;
I do want to be her best friend forever.

Oh how I long to cry along with her, not how we did two years ago on th e phone, but really face to face.

Gary Schwarzinger

So my body did discover a new trick: dhaiaria! (I sure have misspelling there, I meant German: Durchfall)
Which means, great loss of body moisture and minerals, which means, you have to start drinking or you will soon be dead meat.
I have exactly no idea how my body got to manage it, I mean, it has been digesting the same thing over the last 5 days, how come it is suddenly differently digested? Now I am betrayed by my own body; or maybe - as someone who always wants to believe there is still something to fight for - just maybe this good old machie is trying to send me messages.
In my most desprate hours, when I can do nothing but to think up thousand new beginings I remember her last words at my door "nur bischen Geduld".
The words light me up from inside, although I know she could have already forgotten, or could simply deny these words, but yet her last words to me have been her asking for my patience.
Is this all for she doubted if I could remain patient when she needs me to be, and she's just keeping away from me for the while to make sure my impatience will not destroy everything? Please my dearest, please just let me know if this is the case. For I will keep patient, I will wait while you need me to wait, I will wait for you with greatest joy, the joy that we will eventually be reunited again, that no wall shall seperate us.
I remember her, in the deem light of her night lamp, as we were - our bodies and souls - as close as can be, when she reapeated "best friends, come what may"; and that was not the only time she said it, could she break her vows just like that? Has her world turned so much around, that there is no more space for honesty and fidelity?
"Best friends, come what may" we said our vows toomany times. With a quick glance at all what we have gone through, anyone would realize how vast and variant this "come what may" could be. We have already stood lots of which could only be defined by "come what may"; shall my patience be a part of "come what may" so be it.
"Ich schenke dir das bischen Geduld meine Liebste, auch wenn es gleichzeitig mein Leiden bedeuten soll; ich schenke dir alle Geduld, wenn ich nur wüsste, dass wir bei einander bleiben, egal was."

Gary Schwarzinger

So this is it, that's how pain and suffer becomes a part of your life.
The rediculous part is that since the night before last, my dreams have become too kind and gentle to me, almost no more nightmares, I dream of daily situations which make me feel at ease. So all the time I wish to sleep.
But then I find myself thinking about her all the time. I am watching all these nine years again in front of my eyes and much more, all what might have never happened but I can imagine about her. The life sparkling in her eyes, what I did not see on Saturday, what scared me, what made me shatter, what hit me in the eyes.
In the morning, I get some minutes to buy me some gadget from the daily market "Thank you sir, have a nice day." "You too."
Does he not know that my day would not be nice? How should he?
"Hi, you look so tired." I get all day long from people around, just keep on the smile, the simle, Gary! "Yeah, I was sick at the weekend." I simply reply. It sounds convincing; I don't care more. All I fear is to suddenly collapse, but these people are all far too strangers, and I have almost always posessed the gift of appearing really casual to those who just know me. It was actually a disappointment that they all mentioned that I looked tired.
I try to concentrate, actually, every once in a while I do, and then I try to imagine how she might have been here, in this place, in these classes, on these chairs, facing these Professors, her lunch time, her book readings (same as I!), her homeworks, her notes. I do not need much efforts.
Then my mind flies further, I imagine how it will be once we come together, once we fullfill the "best friends, come what may". This has come before, it is not the first time, though a bit harsher this time.
The best thing between the two of us has always been the honesty and the truth, like a glowing star in the dark night, like the look in her eyes. I am thinking all the time, I am thinking fast, I am thinking intensively; what might have happened to her? What could have gone wrong? What can I do? How can I work this out best?
I just wish to hold her in my arms, then my forehead on hers, close my eyes until everything around changes, until everything on our way vanishes and nothing remains but us, our truth, so that we can rest together until the end of time, with no disturbance.
Can it be? Can oaths taken in such honesty be broken? What keeps the world together then if not ...
Another handfull of tranqulizers swallowed and I go on.
For the time being, the least I care about is what these pills might do to me, they keep me going on, they keep me upright, they keep me thinking; yes, thinking. And they have so far kept me out of the hospital. I take three to four times more than what I should, and I just jope I would not run out of them before it is time.
Might I get addicted? No denial, but again, I have more important worries for the time being, this has yet long to come to question.

Gary Schwarzinger

Yes I could not wait another week, yes I failed, yes I went to talk to her.
The good thing was that I could cry, it was not a real cry, more sort of tears rolling down, what I always admired her for: that she could let her tears out when needed. It has been part of my curse all these years, I can not drop a tear, even when I need to; but in her presence it happened.
To me, it was not me begging to her to look at me, it was kind of a fight, a fight against all odds to be with her again. She know I am a fighter, I have fought for smaller, really less important things, then why not for her? Why not for someone who's meant to by my life?
She stayed cold, but there was still a shimmer, a glow, deep in her eyes which seemed to be calling me. Does she know? She confessed that is was far away, steped backwards in her eyes, so she should know that it is there, or maybe it is just her subconscious that knows.
She tried to sound like an execusioner who says: "if you relax, we can work it out painlessly together" but she's not good at it.
She has done this to me before, although she does not remember, this is either the 3rd or the 4th time, but it has never been so severe before. I have faced her and I have faced the world to saty by her side before. This is not the first time I am fighting for her, I do not believe it to be the last time either. She wants to show no respect for anything, anything; so I am cleverer to bring up any old subject.
Yet she did me a great favor, she took away the guilt from me, she kept saying she doesn't recall me having done anything in specific to hurt her, she said that this shall not be any punishment.
But this is a new burden for me: how is she? How is she doing? Is she really ok? Is there anything she is hiding from me? Sure.
Does she need my help? I do not know. But I am afraid, afraid and worried. She might need her mother's help or someone else's if not mine. Will she talk to them? Will she let anyone know she needs help? Will she let anyone find out? Or will she just say: "Gary was an asshole, so I dumped him and I am just a little pissed, ah I'll be ok in while, it's really nothing" ?
What she will tell others about me is the last I worry about. I worry about her, but I know there's nothing I can do about it.
I have never experienced any woman like her. To me, she is the greatest, and will be. How she fights her way through a life which looks like to be easy but in fact is not, amazes me. Once she said that I was the person who took the fear away from her, If really so, then I have every reason to be proud, but she has always found her way herself.
A few months ago, this woman was in love with me, mad about me and wanted to marry me, regardless of the consequences it would have had for her, and now, she does even want to see me again. in the past year, she did anything she couldto bring me to Berlin, and now she wants to forget that someone like me exists in Berlin, can that be? Last week on Sarurday, we were the happiest couple on earth, Sonday, she leaves me intending nver to come back (as she claimed a few days ago). Is it possible?
Her life is to stay hers and mine to stay mine, she told me yesterday. I have nothing against it. I do not want to claim her life, I just ask for her company.
"Say goodbye to the old me and then let's see if anything could be between you and the new me." she said. That I can my darling, I have done it before, maybe not like this time, but it's nothing I haven't done, it's nothing that unknown to me.
I have never been so in love with you, but loving you I have been already since long. You know it well, even if I never brought it into words. Just don't do this to yourself, don't do this to us; whatever it might be.
Everyone deserves anoter chance, even us. If there is a new us there, then please just let us get to know us again, don't burn all the bridges, for something as wonderfull as us has never been on this earth, this I promis you.

Gary Schwarzinger

Most of the pains are gone, my body is playing a new trick: no food.
I simply can't eat, can't drink; my daily supply is far less than my normal breakfast.
The consequence is: no food, no medicine. You simply can't take medicine with empty stomach. My stomach protests loudly once in a while, and sometimes I give it one or two bites of Knoppers snacks not to embarres me in front of others, or one or two sipps of orange nectar. but not more. and that happens up to three times a day, not more. Economical, isn't it?
I can stand light again, that is positive, because it means, I can write again without suffering to death.
Writing, writing is the only thing which keeps me going. So I write, I write, to keep me alive, to keep me breathing, to keep me...
She claimed she would know it if I died, but just let me ask how? How are you supposed to find out if there is no second a day when you'd be missing me? I am afraid of death, that is true. I am afraid that this pain might never go off if I die now, I am afraid that death might not end it all, afraid that death should have no peace to offer.
Another good thing about writing is that is brings me out of my room, where it is her domain. Yes, my room is rediculously her domain, she is all over my room, all over it. There is no corner where I can turn around and see that it belongsto me alone. Once she wanted me, she did really want me, and I gave me to her; she didn't give me back to me when she said she did not want to see me again. Could she, ever?

Gary Schwarzinger

It's so damn cold here, not that I'd be shivering, but it is too cold. I can already see the frost taking over my room. And the light, it just wouldn't leave me alone; every ray is like two arrows aiming my eyes. I have my winter wool hat on all the time: on my head and on my eyes.
I am starting to hate the time... while I don't even know what time it is.
I tried to vomit a several time, in order to get read of the pain in my stomach, but there was simply nothing there to be thrown up; I just can't eat, even the idea of a fine dish makes me sick.
I wish I were a smoker, I believe cigarettes and booze help you throw up, or that might also be just an illusion, j u s t l i k e e v e r y t h i n g e l s e .
The moments I pass in the WC, either sitting on it or bent over trying my best, are my calmest moments; sometimes I try to find some excuse to stay there a longer while, so that I would not have to face my room again.
most of the time I just think, the wost possible poison for one who is already sick due to his mentals. But I can not do anything else. Sometimes I try to imagine her next to me, it does good for some seconds but then it hurts just twice.
I even dropped unconscious a several times, it felt as if something was sucked out of me, when I came to, in the silence of my room, I had lost record of everything; but then I thought up a trick, I wrote her name on the palm of my hand, so the next times, I would see it and everything came back to me, just like a blinding flash of a light.

Curling up in my bed as a result of several disorders such as high heart beat rate, having taken 100 efficient milligrams of my deadly pills and I do not know how many tranqualizers, Adult cold and some green stuff for my throat, dominat headache, the feeling of my bones being crushed no matter which way I turn to relieve the pain in my stomach....
I have given words which I can not hold on to, for the first time in my whole life, I believe I am dying, nothing else could be so diverse, that's how I feel it.
I send her an SMS pleading to come visit me for some small minutes, follishly promissing to hide myself under the blanket, I do what I have never done, agin; two birds with one stone, twice in one act!
Of course she won't. She just writes back that I will survive it, the SMS I get at 2:30' am. I guess she's right, maybe she knows me sometimes better than I do.
It i true, I will survive because I must survive, because I have been a surviver... but not this time, this time I must survive or I will never see her again. So I arise against me, against nature, against my nature, I fight for her, I fight to see her again. A week of killing pain, think Gary, sacrifice this week of your life just to see her again. This week is the first step, I know it won't be just this week, but if I fail this week, then it will be over, then I will never...
It's totally mad, I am not the guy for such stories, or maybe better say, I have never been.
But then it comes to me, all the days I was looking forward to come to London. A quick look back and a quick look foreward, it's just damn too clear why I came to London. Nice excuses I did find, but noone ever believed them. A lot is clear, a lot hasn't been just for her, but why I came to London, to a city I had never considered before...
There's a famous saying for Schwarzinger youths, I hear it now in my mind, again and again and again. Only a week, seven whole days, each containing 24 hours of conscious; I won't ever be such a fool again.

Gary Schwarzinger

FEAR

I did something which I least wanted to do.
It was as if I had this most wonderful most precious cristal vase, in which I put my heart, for so much I loved and adored it.
Everytime I touched it, it brought me such happiness, just to be so confided by it, just to be so close to it, just to be there. Everytime I picked it up, I cherrished it and I handeled it with such care, for I was alaways afraid I might stain it.
Time changed my care to fear, fear of doing something wrong, fear of losing everything I had; or maybe just believed to have, in this giant world.
The cristal vase flew away from my hands, fell to the ground, because I was filled with my blind fear, because I trembeled where I wasn't allowed to.
now the crystal vase in on the ground, with shattered glass in my heart, the crystal will mend, but will my heart?
I stained something so sacred with the blood content in my heart, how am I going to pay for it?
what if the crystal will never touch my fingers or never reach my sight again?
And now, wherever I turn around, I see nothing but crystal, all I can see are pictures of me inside the crystal vase, that's all everyone had ever known of me; either me inside the crystal vase or me, holding the crystal vase.
If I lose the crystal vase, I have lost the only one I have ever had; the only smile I pictured when I was down, the only song I ever wrote, which would soon be a real song with music; the only security I have ever felt; the only wind to which I would bend with pleasure; the only one to whom I will give up.
The only one who knows I would not lie.
Alas, I did not realize that some words better be spoken sooner.

I know I will be half dead without it, but the question is, which half will be easier to reach? Could I reach the other half of death? Will the pain relieve?
Ever?