You look like shit my dear brother, and I missed you too; you dumb stupid mother. As I see the handmade welcome home sign hanging above a cheap bottle of red (that won’t be drunk), and knowing that I’ll have some freedom here with an old pull out sofa bed out here in the living room. And I know that I have pushed both; your patience and my luck, but we both carry our choices, and we try to hide our regrets along with knowing there’s a price to pay, and one day we will both pay our debts. You know that I won’t name names or where I’ve been, but I have been there and back again because old habits die hard.

Now there is a face in the mirror on the shelf, but it don't look like me and I need to remember that yesterday’s gone like a drop in the sea, with all those moments lived being lost in time, like tears in the rain. With our appearances changing as we age and knowing it don't change who or what we are. And finding myself asking if you could dream anything, what would it be? And if you could dream back would you share it with me? As I have the thought cross my mind that maybe they ain't seen the last of us yet, and I have had your back for each day that's gone by, and I'll still have it till the day that I die. And some day you might be missed by those you have left behind, and I hope you have touched other lives like you've touched mine. I know at times it might be painful for you to smile, but it covers some of the scars you carry; that you earned while you learned to live with those memories.

Finding myself in the confessional saying: Bless me father I have sinned, and I'm not sure where to begin. For it seem I have been running, and never really have had both feet on the floor, and though it seems as if the hands of time may tick no more, with no waves washing up on this shore. Now I have decided that I ain't gonna be running anymore. Not sure if any Hail Mary’s will save me, from what many call fate and seem to believe it is woven in us. So just stay inside until I leave, and let the darkness fall upon the door.

It wasn't love that I didn't trust, and it wasn't you, or me, or us, and I know; you've shouldered ifs, and ands, and buts. While I sit here knowing though I won the fight, and in doing so I seem to have lost the war. There were roses I have loved, who have either been given or have just given up. It's that way ok, and I've probably gone and said too much. But we'll do what it takes and we'll find a way to try and live another day, or there will be no reason to stay.

Copyright Timberwolf International LTD: September 2015 – 11