2004-12-21 -- 9:24 p.m. So fortunate my life, Decline to see your eyes, My last breaths under your image, Spent. So late I held your hand onto mine, And so tightly I felt your grip reside. Thus, so I fight under the moon and sky. And never has such timid, Middle lines been so vainly drawn, So vain, that you cannot see them full. So why under this black and broken moon, I lay so still holding your imagine, Not close to my eyes, but close to heart, Forever, I lay, motionless and pale white, Holding your image close to heart, Unable to beat this heart, I won’t let go.