You told me back then, to gather my thoughts before I spoke. Much like a child keeping his playthings in preparation for bed. For acceptance. But much like a child, my words defied me. They refused to rest, and clung onto my tongue. They would not go to bed, yet they wouldn’t leave their room.

I wanted to say so much about the subject. You asked ,“why defend it”; I simply said that I did not know. Perhaps, not for the lack of understanding, but for the lack of reason. Let sleeping dogs lie, let dying men die. I wanted to ask, with that voice of mine that seems to have locked itself away in its room years ago, “do we really benefit from this?” I wanted to lament it all.

Every time I remembered the fact that you were, are a poet, I wonder whether anyone could write forever. Ditch everyone, ditch students, pursue their loves. I wonder how much you must scream to see students trample all over your many lovers: poems that have stolen many a heart.

But I am locked out, and I don’t have a key. I am thinking.