The past is never really gone

History, never erased.

The "M" stands solid, immobile

Whisked away by the wind

But always returning, our hope.

So I guess it's just you and me

Everyone else is already gone

Down to the pits of hell

It's kind of lonely without you,

Now that you've gone away.

The grayness moving swiftly

Past me, through me, gone

The writing gone crooked,

The painting misplaced,

The cd skipping.

Everything's wrong if you're not here.

Don't think you're not missed,

Don't think you're not cared about.

A/N: Well, that's the ending. It probably shouldn't have ended there, but I wrote this poem on Jan 21, 2005 in English class, and class had ended by the time I reached the last line, so I lost my train of thought. By the way, I wrote this poem by hand, and by the time I reached line 12, I realized that I wasn't writing the words of the poem in a straight line. At first, it started by being a sort of philosophical poem, but at a point in the beginning of the poem, I looked at Ginamaya, and decided to mention her in my poem. Gina's the "M". "So I guess it's just you and me." I wrote this when everyone except Niki Pound and I had gone to the library to get a book to read. "The grayness moving swiftly": L.J had come into the room after finishing her essay, and she was wearing a gray sweater, so I thought I'd mention her. The last 3 lines were dedicated to L.K, because I started getting all depressed about her not being in school that day. That's my little explanation of the poem. I hope you enjoyed it.