dear Little popped "let it come down" into my life,
that was 1997. i was 23.
8 years later,
it still stays in my life,
and got you talking to me.
we talked about james' thoughts.
how he had inspired you,
how his words have created a special place,
in us.
today,
in the freezing staff room,
within the stale air,
the dusty tables,
i spent my precious afternoon,
with a cold cup of cup-noodle,
and the pile of sketch books.
i pitied myself,
i listened to james.
someone sharing the other side of the table,
pop his head over,
and asked,
'is that james iha?'
and a conversation began.
not as smashing as the one we had,
and it interrupted my markings.
but it intrigued me.
not the conversation,
but the power of james' words,
his presence.
not main-stream, not known.
yet, its impact on someone's life
is obvious, if found.
i read your thoughts too,
i wished i could be there for you,
at that moment.
and this is for you.
"The sound of love is passing the city's decay
And people always searching a lonely disease
And over-running
Run right to the faith
I swear that this love is strong
It's gonna carry me
And know that this dream and every desire"
reader k | 6/24/2005 09:16:00 PM |
