on a gray sunday in late september, we wrote a song together.

it took us all afternoon, back and forth. [in those days we weren't even speaking on the phone.] i wrote the words and you wrote the music. you sent me the chorus and i sent you the lyrics to match it. you tied up the corners and i listened to 34 takes before you got it right. we got it right.

so the milk will go bad like the sound of my name,
tomorrow it's sour and dumped down the drain,
and your newer edition has taken the place
of my yesterday lips and my last season face...

boy, do you understand what happened then? it was this spark, this huge flash of flame, that screamed of some connection between us, some potential that got passed by because we were running too fast to crawl into the falling autumn leaves and fashion a safe nest of friendship.

remember our corner apartment? kansas city, halfway in between our lives. i'd come home and you'd be in your bedroom, cradling your guitar and wrapped in your headphones. and when you finally looked up you'd say, 'when are you getting married and leaving me?' and i'd say, 'wild horses..' and you'd say 'what do you think of this?'

truly? part of me evaporated with you.