...and the rest of what's left

strumming a borrowed guitar

i strum this borrowed guitar with a song for you.
i met you in my dreams, melancholic as i hoped you to be.

i sing from my heart with a song that streams from my mind.
and it flows down to my calloused hands as i pluck the strings.

i open my mouth and my voice quiver.
i hear myself in the verge of crying. and i ache and hide behind the notes.

i close my eyes and search my mind for your face,
but there's nothing i can see. as i strum the guitar, i continue weeping inside.

a faint smile ends the song.
it is as bitter sweet as i want it. as lovely as your coming.

this is marc's version of the truth, sometime at 11:31 AM if you can't live with it, he can.