He Forgets That He Was Someone's Dream

Wine Is Bottled Poetry, He Thinks.

I Think I Get Some Of My Love Of Adult Books That Can Be Fun From Douglas Adams.

I Suppose There Will Never Be A Lack Of Things To Say, Of Stories To Be Told And Shared.

The Funeral Is A Quiet One, Despite The Number Of Mourners Present. There Are No Sobs Or Flailing Handkerchiefs. There Is A Smattering Of Color Amongst The Sea Of Traditional Black. Even The Light Rain Cannot Push It Down Into The Realms Of Despair. It Rests Instead In A Space Of Thoughtful Melancholy.

Life Takes Us To Unexpected Places Sometimes. The Future Is Never Set In Stone, Remember That.