Answer

sometimes in a moment's idyllic folly,

and with the music's quiet fears;

i dream dreams and nightmares,

for eternal years.

Heaven bend to take my hand
And lead me through the fire
Be the long awaited answer
To a long and painful fight
Truth be told I tried my best
But somewhere long the way
I got caught up in all there was to offer
But the cost was so much more than I could bear

Though I've tried I've fallen
I have sunk so low
I messed up
Better I should know
So don't come round here and
Tell me I told you so

We all begin with good intent
Love was raw and young
We believed that we could change ourselves
The past can be undone
But we carry on our back, the burden
Time always reveals
In the lonely light of morning
In the wound that would not heal
It's the bitter taste of losing everything
that I've held so dear...

I've fallen
I have sunk so low
I messed up
Better I should know
So don't come round here and
Tell me I told you so

Heaven bend to take my hand
I've nowhere left to turn
I'm lost to those I thought were friends
To everyone I know
Oh they turn their heads embarrassed
Pretend that they don't see
But it's one missed step you'll slip before you know it
And there doesn't seem a way to be redeemed

Though I've tried I've fallen
I have sunk so low
I messed up
Better I should know
So don't come round here and
Tell me I told you so
I messed up
Better I should know
So don't come round here and
Tell me I told you so

Memento Mori

I will never forget the look of his father's face, as I shook his hand in sorrow. I can not forget what I have not seen before; as I have never seen eyes so full of sadness in my entire life. His name is Konstantin Tarasov, and he passed away on a saturday in February, of leukemia.

I can't and dont't feel like saying how I never really were close to him, or what little time we spent together, I can't stop thinking of his father's sad eyes, and his mother, weeping, inconsolable. The weather seemed to mourn and match the flowing of tears with the downpour of rain. I've never been to his place, and together with Geraldine we stepped in. It was the first time we met his father, his family, and it is funny how things like this will turn strangers to almost a part of them as well, as we mourn the passing of a person we both knew.

We met his brother, and he sat with us and took out a bunch of Kostia's pictures, and started going through them one by one, from childhood till his hospitalization. It was hard not to pay attention to him, somehow I couldn't help but feel that it was the only way he could get pass that time, the only means of self consolation, by going through in such great detail and love; the memories of his brother. I was not close to him back in the JC days, but to say the least he was my classmate, our classmate, of which we took great interest in due to his nationality. And ate together, had lessons together, and had a community together. As we went through the photos, it pained me to see those of which showed him on a hospital bed, with so many tubes going into him. Along with the expressions that he burned into each photo, the nonchalant attitude he put through the camera and the occasional smile. Such things will be forever etched in my memory. It was as if he already knew, from his face in the photos, that for the years to come these pictures will surely be picked up and viewed and commented with maybe a sigh or two, in loving memory for the years ahead. The look of expectancy and acceptance he had in all his recent photos were so exceedingly haunting, and yet, so immaculate and disturbingly beautiful at the same time. We talked about him for a while more and he left for some other relatives. I never did ask of his brother's name, but at that moment I felt as if he had just shared something that probably meant the world to him. As he poured out his soul unto us, like how the troubled pour out their souls so easily to people they do not know. It was as if their sense of loss and grief was translated unto us.

Geraldine mentioned to me how back in those days he had always sat with his earl grey tea during canteen breaks and how he always ate the local cuisine in such a strange and interesting fashion. We would be asking him all sorts of funny questions. I could probably think up and reminisce upon the dozens of things that onced used to be or once occured, but i guess like everything, life goes on, and we grab hold of what little we can, and carve it into a portion of our memory, a marking or stone set into the ever moving stream of our lives,

where some steams, have ceased to flow.

I've always thought,

No parent should ever have to attend their child's wake,

and no parent should ever need to shed tears upon their children's grave.

Rest In Peace,

Konstantin Tarasov

1989-2009