By Michael McCormack (whatsisname@unforgettable.com)
Date: 23 May 1997

Untitled.

Sarah, do you remember that night on the hill alone, how we held each other 
close, and I whispered in your ear how I would always love you? Do you remember
that night how we laid together and the sweat of our bodies mingled and we fell
asleep in each other's arms?

And that night you left me like usual. You didn't think I knew, but I did. One 
night I followed you, watched you walking the streets, a pretty whore, my pretty
whore.. but you never told me, you never thought I loved you enough not to care.
I didn't. I only cared that you didn't trust me enough to tell me. Sometimes I 
would wake up and you wouldn't be there. I just assumed you had gone to the 
kitchen or the bathroom.. but one night I woke up and you were just slipping out
the door, so I followed you. I watched you that night, watched you walk and he 
talked and he paid and you did... I'm sure you know better than I do.

That night, the night you didn't come back. I missed you the next day. All day 
I waited, sick with worry, sick with fear. Then I saw you, beamed into my room 
by the magic of television, your face pale and deathly white, the ragged hole 
between your eyes leaking red. I cried that night, Sarah. You made me cry.

All I can do now is remember, that night on the hill, how the bullets sang and 
the flames danced, and we made love above a city at war with itself. We watched 
it tear itself apart. I watched it tear you apart Sarah. Now you're gone and I 
can't bring you back. Wherever you are, I hope you remember. 

I do. 

And I still love you.