as i stared at the crying figure that once was my friend, i felt her
uneasiness as if it were my own.  emotions washed over and through me like a
	desolate canal as my eyes intently stared at her.  her hands clutched together
		holding whatever it was she was holding by her beautiful, beautiful side.
i walked over to her slowly - to console her?  i don't know.  she was crying
	desperately by this time, and i felt a sort of sorry welling up within me.  i
felt like crying myself.  not for me.  not for her.  for somebody.  but i don't know
who.  slowly, she began to look at me and her lips formed unspoken words.
		if it was sorry, i could not tell.  from where i stood - right behind her
	sobbing body - i could still not see what it was she was holding.
	as she raised her clenched hands towards me, still holding that one object, i grew
scared.  not for me.  not for her.  for somebody?  no.  for nobody.  that was why
		it happened in the first place.  all i saw in the darkly lit room was the tear
of her cheek falling and falling like a graceful swan drop to the water and
	i remember it never hit the ground.  i see darkness and i hurt for the rest of
eternity.  and for the first time since i could see, i saw clearly and felt shame.  not
	for her.  never for her.  for me.  i was pathetic and lovely and if i could stop
and think i would have because i have the rest of time to think about
		why she did that and
	why i am dead.
Written May, 1997