I could say all the things,
that have been said before.
In a million songs,
in a million books,
in a million lies.
And I would say them a million more.
It would mean the world to me,
if they meant anything to you.

I know it now.
I was confused and elated then,
but you mean the world to me.
I would phone a million times, to hear your voice.
I would write a million lines, to feel I've reached you.
I would drive a million miles, just to see your face.
I would offer a million lives, for you and I to share.

I fear I am missing something.
missing you.
missing something in myself.
Missing the parts of myself that lie still as death.
parts of me that before had not lived.
Stirred only by my memories of a million things.
A million things swirling through out my head,
just as leaves in the wind of the season past,
every one pressed with your name.

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Joshua S. Bell
icabod@spy.net