I want to say what words just can’t. I wish today was not today. Maybe she could take it back...I’ve smashed the lights out and climbed the hill behind my house and felt the asphalt chill. There were lonely kids and swing-setting suns, closed bedroom doors and a life undone. I keep the time with the stroke of a dried-out pen. “If she is written here, maybe she is never dead.” I’m holding on so tight to letting go. And moving on from here is going oh so slow. This beat heartbeats-up every last thing. And there is nothing left, and nothing left to sing. And there is nothing that I can say except I wish today was not today. And I know this gives you nothing at all. But that’s all I have, nothing, that’s all. So I’ll give you everything in two “nothing” words: I’m sorry.