“I doubt sometimes whether a quiet and unagitated life would have suited me – yet I sometimes long for it.” ― Lord Byron

Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

Every year, I hope to forget or to either remember in a fleeting thought. This is the 17th year.

My dead boy Tim died on St Patrick’s Day.  A rather difficult day to forget now that even the leprechaun has made it safely to Africa, along with Halloween. Is a bit like the  Valentine’s Day hype, except I receive nothing. I am only reminded of what I lost. The best of friend.

Having successfully avoided pots of gold, I see the universe is a bastard.

Scrolling through Facebook tonight, I saw the words… unexpectedly felt my throat close and excused myself from the room.

It was spring. We were standing outside a pub looking up at the skies. We liked silences. They were comfortable.

Tim broke the silence by reciting a poem while not moving his eyes from mine even once. I didn’t know the poem. Now, I’ll never forget it. 

One shade the more,
one ray the less.

I will remember you in every starry sky I see.

You were enough Tim.
Wenchy

Posted from the galaxy of Samsung from the second cloud on your left.