Come sit with me,
my old melancholy,
my dearest friend,
we'll hold hands
and watch the birds go by
just as we used to do,
I might have appeared alone all those nights,
to an ignorant,
but you were all always right there with me:
night and stars and the ability to disappear.
The little creek were there and the big creek too.
An enormous tree, indestructible and sleepy.
My protectors, and you, watching over me.
to shield me from things worst than a wistful nostalgia.