Watch That Boy. He's Going

I Could Fight With The Living But I Could Not Fight The Dead. If There Was Some Woman In London That Maxim Loved, Someone He Wrote To, Visited, Dined With, Slept With, I Could Fight Her. We Would Stand On Common Ground. I Should Not Be Afraid. Anger And Jealousy Were Things That Could Be Conquered. One Day The Woman Would Grow Old Or Tired Or Different, And Maxim Would Not Love Her Anymore. But Rebecca Would Never Grow Old. Rebecca Would Always Be The Same. And She And I Could Not Fight. She Was To Strong For Me.

We Know One Another. This Is The Present. There Is No Past And No Future. Here I Am Washing My Hands, And The Cracked Mirror Shows Me To Myself, Suspended As It Were, In Time; This Is Me, This Moment Will Not Pass.

I Had Build Up False Pictures In My Mind And Sat Before Them. I Had Never Had The Courage To Demand The Truth.

He Had The Face Of One Who Walks In His Sleep, And For A Wild Moment The Idea Came To Me That Perhaps He Was Not Normal, Not Altogether Sane. There Were People Who Had Trances, I Had Surely Heard Of Them, And They Followed Strange Laws Of Which We Could Know Nothing, They Obeyed The Tangled Orders Of Their Own Sub-conscious Minds. Perhaps He Was One Of Them, And Here We Were Within Six Feet Of Death.

But I Have Had Enough Melodrama In This Life, And Would Willingly Give My Five Senses If They Could Ensure Us Our Present Peace And Security. Happiness Is Not A Possession To Be Prized, It Is A Quality Of Thought, A State Of Mind. Of Course We Have Our Moments Of Depression; But There Are Other Moments Too, When Time, Unmeasured By The Clock, Runs On Into Eternity And, Catching His Smile, I Know We Are Together, We March In Unison, No Flash Of Thought Or Opinion Makes A Barrier Between Us.