By Tom McKelvey
Date: 3 February 1999

Our Song

An old song comes on the radio, reminding me of yesterdays gone by long
ago, and the feelings we shared. Though the memories are fading, the pain
remains, from love lost and words spoken in anger and haste, wounds that
went unhealed for too long now, but it's too late to make right, too long
to say we're sorry for the things we didn't mean. I sing along, trying to
remember the words, and the times we didn't fight, didn't shout, didn't cry.
The song, our song, whispered words of reverence like some mystical chant
or mantra, when it falls from my lips and onto my lap where it sits,
condemning me. I see your face in my mind and it's almost as if I'm 
trying to find some reason to call you anyway. If I knew your number,
anymore, I might just do that, but like the memories, I've forgotten...again.
So I sit and sing, to myself and the memories that do remain. I sing to you,
where ever you are, I'm sorry and hope you hear it, the thing I couldn't say,
Then I shout now to myself, silently, when the song ends, just like it did,
before.

for Holly