EPILOGUE : CIGARETTES, KNIVES & JEALOUSY

I wonder about fate.
I wonder if the eighteen years old me,
Living in a flat with his two best friends in Paris believed in fate.

We were uncovering life, sharing everything,
Sleeping in the same bedsheets,
And talking until the early lights.

And now what I have is,
Your shoes by the door,
The unopened bottle of wine,
The smell of my Parisian stairs-case as I waited for you.
The news of your death,
The moment time stopped
And the air went mute.

What I have now is flashbacks,
A crime of passion,
That led one of my best friends to stab the other:
Cigarettes, knives and jealousy.

But grief is not a memory.

I can still feel your breath,
And I wonder if you picture me from where you are.
Tell me how it is,
Is it free enough for me?
Is it clean enough for you?

Grief is Denial and Anger,
Grief is these songs I wrote,
But you're much more than lyrics to me.

So here it goes,

Voilà ce que j'en ai fait.