I had party clothes and some choice outfits for this and that, but this is me, as you most likely might have seen me, ready for a walk or some gardening.
Shedding tears all over again. Living in hope that we might all be reunited someday in Ur.
there was a place once; no, it was a REAL place, with streets and geography cultures and i lived there for a time. i lived there as much as i have lived anywhere and it was my home. and you were there too, with your garden and house and we lived there. it was a beautiful land but there were no more dreams and we were exiled to other lands, none as beautiful as the one where we had lived. for a while we got postcards from there and treasured them but now there will be no more postcards and the exiles will meet in bars and bus stations and sing the old songs for old time's sake, but none of us can ever go home again. it was a beautiful land. we miss it, and we can no longer go home.
I do hope that someday we can dream the impossible and return home, and that I might once again knock on your front door looking for the neighborly loan of some rookswort. Until then, perhaps you can find me holding down the end of a bar someplace, whistling the Groddle theme quietly to myself as I so often do; by all means stop and say hello, I'll buy the first round of Cosma-politans, and perhaps we can share some joy as well as the sorrow.