In this tune the probable seemed for sure. In this tune I would sing the words and you would nod your head and think, of course we do. In this tune I thought of you.

But somehow, somewhere, during the dead of the night and the echoes of her voice, I can no longer seem to grasp the firmness, the sureness, of this you that was once rooted within this tune.

Everyone needs someone to write about. Everyone, during a certain melody on a certain day, needs someone to think about. This person could be someone you just met on the way home, someone you met for the longest time but have only come to know just the other day in the school cafeteria, or someone you never would have met if you haven't missed the bus; haven't dropped your coins; haven't thought of meeting.

It's easy to find someone to think about until you have found him. And when you do it will seem as if the pieces finally fit; the picture finally coming together. These pieces fit not into the major events, nor take the place of all the important people and all the important things. Instead, they fill up the in-between moments�the left-over periods in time. The times you find yourself suddenly alone waiting for the train home. The awkward pauses between songs. That few seconds you accidentally spent staring a little longer than usual into the washroom mirror. And all the ghosts of people floating past in the corners of your eyes�all the ghosts of people you think you know until you turn to make sure you actually do.

Only to realize that they, meant noting more than their own names: ghosts.

You have become one of these ghosts. You have faded, dematerialized, reduced to something intangible, something meta-physical, something I can no longer grasp. No longer touch. No longer feel. I can no longer understand you. Except for these moments between moments when I hear the silence of the pauses within the songs, the moments I finally took notice of myself in the washroom mirror. During these moments I am reminded of how solid you once were. How I can feel the ends of your hair as I reach out my hands.

Once, you were so real. So true.

Then once again, you are no longer here. Not even in my mind. And now all that's left of the in-between is the nothingness of the black hole that suck myself back into me.