Dying is an Art - XIII.

XIII.
(Closing Time)

Things were going to be over, so I wrote for
You.

Do You remember when I asked
on a whim and expected nothing?

Do You know how much I was shaking
because I thought I had made a
mistake that I couldn't take back?

Do You think about what You felt,
what made you reply with a
clear and simple
yes?

I know it will never mean the same
for You. I know you may
forget it in time, but You
need to know.

You need to know --

It meant something to me.
It meant I could be
happy without over-thinking it,
just for a little while.

Quiet between the
conversation, and the
sun out the window
with the thin clouds.

An empty lot and
an empty theatre.

Thank you,
thank you,

thank You.