There's really not so much to tell.
She was 29, showing signs of doing well
for herself.
She never spoke of feeling sad.
Was, oh, so close with the family and friends
she had around her.
But she went quietly.
She didn't make a sound.
She went quietly
with the wish not to be found.
She went quietly
without a word of where.
Just a note that wrote:
"Forgetting is easier."
Years have fallen since the day
she wrote the note and chose to float away
into the Ether.
Someone said they saw her south
at the coast on the river's mouth,
but only briefly.
'Cause she went quietly.
She didn't make a sound.
She went quietly
with the wish not to be found.
She went quietly
without a word of where.
Just a note that wrote:
"Forgetting is easier."
She went quietly.
She didn't make a sound.
She went quietly
with the wish not to be found.
She went quietly
without a word of where.
Just a note that wrote:
"Forgetting is easier."
Out of the blue, in the pouring rain,
to my doorstep, old and cold today she came,
with her story.
I asked her in, but she declined.
Had just one, single thing to get off her mind.
And, that was, "Sorry."
