I always tried to fix things
And you can't say that I never did.
Anything can be fixed
And that's what my Grandpa always had said.
Well, he died last November of heart failure.
And that failure turned into his failure, I guess he just couldn't fix that.
We buried him next to my grandma, and said a few prayers.
It was a nice service.
And so life goes on
And it never stops.
People never stop moving and hustling around, always looking for something that just can't be found.
Life goes on even in the poorest streets, and even in the lowest gutters, it moves and breathes and holds on to what it has, because that is the only thing to do.
Since you left, things have been different.
I don't know where I am going anymore, but for once that seems alright.
It seems okay to not have a pin point in direction.
I moved into a smaller place last July, and it's okay; just a place to sleep with a warm bed.
I see you once and a while.
You probably don't notice me.
I see you on my way to work sometimes, and then I see you other times too.
You look good, and I hate that.
I hate the way your hair falls just right, and mine can never stay put.
Winter is coming now, though, and I'm sure it will be a relief from the heat of summer and the crispness of fall. I'm sure the snow will be a sight to see, with it's pureness reflecting onto the hills like a beacon.
So winter is coming and I am alone again.
I can't fix that.
