By: Jehangir Saleh
Written: August 28, 2005

Tonight you cried, and I tried to be the man I wanted to be when I was seven years old.
There was no one to kill.
So when that didn’t work, I started to imagine us on a mountain somewhere, following each other like pilgrims, both each others prophets.

And suddenly I knew: there was nothing I could give you except everything that was already inside.

The drugs are kicking in, so soon I will forget.
But I send this to you, my love, a poem that will never purse my lips, so you remember that when this is all over, both of us won and neither of us were right.