Live Report
She preceded me by nineteen days to lead by birth and I to follow; but where she rests is not so grave as my prospect of lost tomorrows. Some saw the woman on the bridge that night, lights on and motor running. She danced and staggered toward the edge while passing cars thought she was funning. That night, I sat in thought at home, but the calm could never still my eyes that searched and saw the dusty phone unused, my fault, my life of lies. While raising the razor to my wrist the live report came on TV; all cameras watched the motorist, but she was there for me to see. One afternoon we had both agreed that our failures forged a slavery. But this time she would soon succeed, and I bristled at her bravery. As she quickly dropped from camera's sight the reporter had some closing views on desperation and cold dark nights; meaningless seconds of nightly news. Now each bridge I cross brings discontent and the hate I have for what she's done. Her silence stirred my still intent, and I've become the passionate one. Written September 8th, 2001 © on Sep 08 2001 11:22 AM PST, yes 0 • 11 • 1
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"She preceded me by nineteen days..."